The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
by Angelic-Requiem
Summary: To be read after "The Transformation of Sweeney Todd". Here follows the reckoning of Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street. *Alternate ending*
1. I

**The Demon Barber of Fleet Street**

-The Reckoning of Sweeney Todd-

**-I-**

Johanna gazed out her window with a forlorn expression. She followed the movements of each person as they strode down the street. Some were walking under the weight of packages they carried, and others stepped with the pretentious walk of persons of authority. All different classes merged together as they moved about the lane. Johanna sighed. She had been watching the people, impervious to the freedom they possessed, and recognized many from previous days. She knew them, and yet none of them knew her. She could pretend she was among them, and that she had acquaintances that she could nod to with a greeting of acknowledgement, but it came to nothing. For the last couple years she had not even be permitted to step outside her home, and she had realized when she was a small girl that the manor enclosed around her was more like a prison than a home. A prison she desperately needed to escape.

Suddenly, Johanna heard a tapping at the door. She lifted her book from the dresser so as to give the illusion she was studying. Her governess, Clara Cartwright, had offered her many lectures about the danger of betraying her desire to escape. Her guardian, Judge Turpin, did not approve of her gazing out the window for so many hours at a time. However, Johanna had secretly admonished that if he allowed her outside, she wouldn't have a reason to wish for what she could never have.

"Come in." Johanna said when her façade was in place.

Her skin immediately took on a bracing chill as Judge Turpin opened the door. Slowly, with the steadiness of a man of many years, Judge Turpin came into the room and closed the door behind him.

"And how is my flower, this fine morning? It appears you are up early."

"Yes…I…I wanted to get some reading done before Miss Clara returned." Johanna said softly.

Judge Turpin smiled with a warmness that was not quite of the grandfather-to-granddaughter sort. Johanna felt herself growing more and more confused with Judge Turpin's constant changing of stations within their relationship. At sixteen years, Johanna was not too young to take on a husband, but she found a nameless nausea inside her grow stronger and stronger every day that went by. Judge Turpin strolled to her side, and laid a hand on her shoulder. Johanna felt a chill creep up her spine.

"You seem to be growing melancholy, dear Johanna." Judge Turpin said with care. "Therefore, I've brought you a gift to lift your spirits."

Johanna noticed the Judge motion to a man standing in the shadow of the door. Johanna furrowed her brow. It was Beadle Bamford; a right ghastly excuse for a man. The Beadle nodded with a delighted smirk, and entered the chamber with a cage filled with tiny birds. Johanna's eyes widened slightly, and she watched transfixed as the Beadle hung the cage next to the window. With sparkling eyes Johanna leaned forward to catch a better glimpse.

"You like them, my pet?" Judge Turpin asked her.

Johanna was silent for a moment, but then turned toward her adopted guardian and nodded politely.

"Yes sir. They're very beautiful."

"Excellent." Judge Turpin replied, obviously pleased with himself.

After a brief conversation that lasted far too long for Johanna, the Judge and his minion departed, leaving the girl alone once more. Johanna gazed at the birds with a small smile. What an ironic gift to offer. She could see herself as a lark in a cage, mournfully glancing through the bars but never granted freedom. Imprisoned for the sole purpose of entertaining the vision of others. Johanna sighed, and continued to read.

_____________________

To many, London was a glorious place tipped to the brim with romance and adventure. The smokestacks towered above the quaint cobblestone streets, and the morning mist that billowed over the ocean only added to the splendor of the scene. A large ship glided through the water, its journey nearly ended. The breeze on the deck was cool and moist, and blew past the face of a starry-eyed young sailor called Anthony Hope. The boy smiled into the wind, not concealing his delight at approaching the marvelous city of London.

"I have been to so many places and I've seen so many glorious things, but nothing can match the majesty of London."

Boots clapped unmercifully at the planks as Sweeney Todd stepped beside his travelling companion. The fresh wind hardly disturbed his unruly black hair, as though the air itself was nervous to touch his demonic face. Todd gazed at the cityscape with an expression colder than ice.

"No, truly, there is no place like London."

Anthony turned his head in response to Todd's dark tone thick with sarcasm.

"Mr. Todd?" He asked politely, desiring clarification of Todd's apparent distain.

Todd had nothing to hide from the boy.

"The world has been kind to you, Anthony. But you are young yet; you will soon learn."

Striding with a ridged grace across the deck, Todd laid his hands against the damp rail. As he watched a bridge retract in preparation for the ship's crossing, Anthony stood beside him wearing a very puzzled expression.

"Learn what, Mr. Todd?"

Sweeney Todd remained silent for a moment, still transfixed on the brightening city before him. He vaguely recalled stepping aboard a ship fifteen years ago and watching the city fade away into the distance. How different he had become from that frightened man who was transported away from his family, enduring the punishment of a charge falsely accused. His gaze was steady as he spoke.

"This world is nothing but an eternal hole of soiled beauty and deceit. People are guided by false morals, morals that will do nothing to protect those who would honor them. These helpless citizens are wilting in the shadows of the powers above. That is London." Todd lifted his lip in a sneer before continuing. "The few men who posses the privileges of this falsified world stand above the hole in which we crawl, throwing us scraps from their table and laughing as we tear through each other like dogs. They pilfer our expectations because they have the power to do so. They can steal beauty and turn it to filth. They can take goodness and twist it into greed. This is London."

"Mr. Todd…?"

"I, too, have seen the world." Todd sustained, ignoring Anthony's meek interjection. "I have seen wonders as well, but of a different sort. I have witnessed firsthand the cruelties of men, and such a sight is as wondrous as any glorious prospect the world has to offer. And yet, I find myself agreeing." Todd gritted his teeth in an angry scowl. "There's no place like London."

The ship docked, and Todd stood as still as a statue as the disarray of hurried sailors secured the mooring lines. When the ship was secure, Todd reached for his bag and slung it over his shoulder. The clothing inside did not belong to him, but the captain had been gracious enough to offer it as a gift to their stranded guest. Todd had not revealed where he had come from when the ship _Bountiful_ rescued him from the raging seas, and no one seemed to mind his reserved behavior. Sweeney Todd stepped down the ramp to the cobblestones, following other crewmembers taking shore leave. He strode under the archway, and felt himself stop suddenly. The streets. Something about the empty lanes appeared so very…haunted. He scanned the rows of buildings, paying no heed to the beauty the new morning light cast on the dark cobblestones. He could hear a pair of footsteps stop behind him. It was Anthony. Todd attempted to understand what he had done to invite such conversation within the boy. From what he remembered he had scarce spoke three words across the entirety of the venture.

"Is everything alright Mr. Todd?" Anthony had a genuine tone of concern gilded in his question.

Todd decided there was no harm in confiding in the boy of what disturbed him so greatly. As long as he kept the characters in the telling anonymous, that is. Sweeney Todd felt his gaze pass once again over the eerily empty streets.

"I beg your indulgence, Anthony." Sweeney Todd spoke softly. "My mind is far from easy, and in these once familiar streets I feel…shadows. Everywhere."

Anthony was blatantly confused. "Shadows?"

Todd's eyes flecked down to the ground.

"Ghosts." He clarified with grim indifference.

Sweeney Todd took a step forward, and then stopped, forcing himself to clear away the darkness that hazed his memories, summoning a vision belonging to Benjamin Barker. He saw Barker foolishly coddling over his baby girl, and smiling passionately at his beautiful wife.

"Once, amid my acquaintances, I knew a barber. He was wed to a beautiful woman. They lived contently until one day a man glorified in the practices of the law desired that beauty for himself. He removed the barber, and in doing so he cleared the path for himself to take the delicate, unprotected flower as his own."

Despite the fact Todd could hardly feel the pain anymore, a strange presence inside him urged him to pause. Todd looked within in attempt to discover where the odd voice originated, but could find nothing but a familiar and relieving void of malice. He almost had forgotten Anthony was still present beside him.

"And the lady, sir? Did she succumb?"

The question was harmless enough. Sweeney Todd did not address the question directly.

"That was many years ago." The matter was closed.

Sweeney Todd then realized he owed some kind of recognition for Anthony's assistance. He growled a low exhale, and then turned to face the young man. He hesitated, but ultimately relented.

"I'd like to thank you Anthony. If you hadn't spotted me, I'd be lost on the ocean still."

Anthony smiled as he received the gratitude with a quick nod. His countenance then adopted a questioning look.

"Will I see you again, Mr. Todd?"

Sweeney Todd was growing more and more distant by the moment. His gaze had shifted from connecting with his companion to memorizing the crevices nicked out of the stones below him. His words came unbidden.

"You might find me, if you like, around Fleet Street, I wouldn't wonder."

Anthony offered his hand in farewell. "Until then, my friend."

Sweeney Todd ignored the gesture, his mind already wandering. He began to walk, slowly at first but with a gradually quickening pace. He marched toward an archway that marked his path to Fleet Street. His pack thumped behind him as he walked powerfully over the road. The rats scurried about his feet as he strode, eager to clear his path. His brows were knit together in a permanent scowl of resentment, and soon he felt a phrase come to his lips, one that struck him with a chilling revelation.

"There's a hole in the world, like a great black pit, and it's filled with people who are filled with shit, and the vermin of the world inhabit it…"


	2. II

**-II-**

The streets were utterly silent as Tobias Ragg ambled through the dim light of the lamps, head down; hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He walked at a very brisk pace, partly to keep himself warm as well as he didn't dare report late to his master. Signor Adolfo Pirelli had purchased young Toby years ago from the workhouse. Although the life Signor Pirelli led was a questionable one, Toby would take it any day of the week to refrain from returning to his horrid former accommodations.

Toby scarcely lifted his head to see a gentleman was approaching. His chin dropped again as he past. Toby stumbled, brushing into the gentleman slightly, and after he recovered his balance tipped his head apologetically.

"Beg pardon, sir."

The man offered a disdainful grunt, straightened his coat and continued on his way. Toby commenced his stroll as well, waiting a few steps while he turned the corner before admiring the purse he had stolen. It was of red velvet, and looked quite tasteful if Toby could guess about such things. He opened the purse, and his pulse raced as he discovered more than fifteen pounds. His heart fluttered with excitement, but soon enough it returned to normal. He didn't dare keep a coin for himself. Signor Pirelli had been the one to teach him how to skillfully pickpocket unsuspecting passers-by in the dark, and he had also ordered all proceeds to be delivered directly to him. However, Toby had eaten nothing but pasty porridge and stale bread while his master enjoyed such tantalizingly delectable meals. Surely the Signor could do without one quid. Toby cautiously lifted one coin from the pouch, and placed it into his deepest pocket.

Toby approached the marketplace, not surprised to see it already bustling with activity so early in the morning. He wasn't sure of the time, but he was quite sure he was late. Hopefully, Signor Pirelli would spare a whipping when Toby offered him the stolen purse. He approached his master's stand advertising for his prize miracle elixir hair restoration product. It was a best-seller. Toby frowned. If only the poor curs knew what the stuff was made from. He quickly clambered upon the stage.

"Signor Pirelli?" The boy called out.

When there was no immediate answer Toby reached for the curtains concealing Signor Pirelli's living quarters. Toby's living area was outside. He really didn't mind the fresh air, but it admitted that it was difficult to sleep out in pouring rain. As Toby prepared to pull away the thick, crimson curtains, he felt someone grasp his hand from inside. He was too shocked to cry out as the hand yanked him inside the cart and threw him hard against one of the walls. Toby groaned, rubbing his head. When his vision cleared, he could see the towering figure of Signor Pirelli standing over him with a raging expression.

"You are late, boy." Signor Pirelli spat, his Italian accent causing the words to come out as, "Z'or lat boy."

Toby lifted one hand to ward off the impending throttle, and fumbled for the purse.

"Sorry sir, I 'urried as fast as I could. But I got something to give you."

Toby held out the prize, unsure if the Signor would be pleased enough to forget the lashing he intended for the boy. Signor Pirelli looked at the dangling purse long and hard before his face split into a chilling smile. He snatched the purse away and immediately began to count the money. Toby believed this an opportune time to slip away and attend his duties. However, before he was three feet away he felt himself halt.

"Toby?"

Toby turned, nervous, but trying not to show it.

"Yes, sir?"

"Is this all?"

Toby gulped. "Yes, sir."

Signor Pirelli stood back on his heels with a doubtful expression, but he nodded in acknowledgement.

"Very well, then you won't mind turning out your pockets."

Toby's stomach sunk in dread. "Sir?"

"Turn out your pockets, boy."

With no other option but to obey the command, Toby reached into his pockets and pulled them inside-out. To Toby's dismay a bright silver coin clattered to the ground in front of him. He furrowed his brow anxiously, and glanced up at Signor Pirelli. The man, utterly difficult to read, did not appear angry. Toby had hoped he'd be pardoned due to his recent profit, however, Signor Pirelli did not see it in that light. Toby endured yet another of his master's disciplinary beating, thinking all the while of what he would have to scrounge up for dinner at nightfall.


	3. III

**-III-**

Sweeney Todd's expression remained unreadable as he approached a familiar portion of the city. Fleet Street: the vilest avenue of deception and treachery in all of London, and had been the home of Benjamin Barker over a decade ago. As Todd spied the large, uniquely designed window above the pie shop, he felt curious shivers rake through him. This was odd, considering the memories he had obtained in this place were buried too deep for Todd to even recall, much less regret. After the sensation passed, Todd progressed directly to the front door of the dingy old pie shop.

He vaguely remembered this place, as well as the woman who managed it. From what he could remember she'd been a pleasant enough woman, although she was very keen on speaking without care or consideration of others around her. He had forgotten her name, but he glanced at the sign above before he entered the shop.

_Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies_

The indication was written there in what used to be bold yellow letters, but the color had faded substantially and had never bothered to be repainted. Sweeney Todd cautiously entered the shop. The only person present inside the small kitchen was a pale-faced woman with wild red hair. She was preoccupied with the dough she was cleaving; however her expression was that of disinterested boredom. Todd stood in the doorway a moment more, angling his brows when she did not notice his entrance. When she did look up, her face was so full of delighted surprise that Todd silently debated whether he should leave the place before she reached him.

"A customer!" The woman gasped, her tone obviously suggesting it had been awhile since anyone had dared enter.

Todd realized he wouldn't have been quick enough to flee, had he the time to make a decision. The woman, Mrs. Lovett, no doubt, was at his side in a moment. She took him by the arm and guided him to one of the booths with a wide smile.

"Here now, what's yer hurry love? Sit ye down there." Mrs. Lovett stepped back to the kitchen. "Have ye come for a pie sir? Must say I haven't seen a trace of a customer in too many weeks; pardon my enthusiasm if you please."

Mrs. Lovett pressed the lump of dough flat with a hard press of a rolling pin, sending clouds of powdered flour billowing up around her.

"Oh dear me it's been a trial in these 'ard times love. Not a scrap of meat worthy of consumption anywhere. Well, I'll bet yer hungry sir. All men who return from a long journey are usually ready to tuck in at the first morsel that comes their way."

Sweeney Todd was about to ask what made her guess he'd returned from a long journey, but before one word could escape his lips Mrs. Lovett continued on with hardly a pause.

"Though truth be told even the thinnest scarecrows don't seem to fancy my pies, and why should they. They are without a doubt the worst pies in London, and even that's polite."

Todd absently wondered why, if they were as bad as Mrs. Lovett claimed, the woman quickly presented one in front of him. As she returned to her baking, Todd studied the small pie. Truthfully, it did look rather unappetizing.

"If you doubt it sir, just take a bite." Mrs. Lovett challenged as she poured a tankard of foreign liquid into her mixture.

Sweeney Todd lifted the pie and gave it a good whiff before taking a wary bite. Todd had developed a tolerance in the consumption of many foul foods, but he could not even believe how detestably sordid the pie was.

"You see? Disgusting."

Todd was inclined to agree, and with hardly a hesitation he turned his head and spat out the foul bite he'd been mad to take in the first place. Mrs. Lovett continued speaking without apology.

"I suppose I could make up a good recipe had I some good meat. Mrs. Mooney down the street had got more business than ever, and I 'appen to know she pops pusses into 'er pies. Think of it! Gentlemen falling over themselves to taste a pussy pie. I'd not be caught dead feed'n my customers pussy pies. At any rate those pussycats are terribly quick."

Sweeney Todd raised an eyebrow.

"Well, there's no denying times is hard sir. Harder with the worst pies in London I reckon. Here ye are. Have a drop of ale, doubt it'll do much to wash that taste out though."

Todd reached for the ale with an invisible appreciation and took a long swing. It had been years since he'd had a good taste of ale, and the tang nearly caused him to recoil. When Todd glanced up once again he saw Mrs. Lovett smacking her rolling pin against her baking area with obvious irritation. As she caught his inquisitive expression she offered half a smile.

"Beg pardon sir. Got some crawlies here wot just don't take a hint."

Mrs. Lovett cleared her throat and tossed her rolling pin aside, casually dusting off her fingers.

"So, how's the ale?" Before Todd could answer she spoke again. "Well deary, I think it's gonna take more then that to be rid of that taste. Come on inside and I'll get you a nice bit of gin, eh?"

Todd didn't mind what he drank. The taste still lingering in his mouth was horrendous, but he had other things on his mind. He rose out of his seat and followed an accommodating Mrs. Lovett as she sauntered into the living room, fumbling for a glass. Todd's gaze flecked toward an empty hall, and he kept the shield of silence around him for the time being. Mrs. Lovett was oblivious to this, gracefully pouring the alcohol into a glass while chattering about a good bargain on the floral wallpaper.

"-only partly singed when the chapel burnt down." She finished as she handed her guest his drink. "There now, sit down off your bones."

Sweeney moved at a slow, deliberate pace as he swirled the gin in his cup. He took a breath.

"You've got a room over this shop, don't you? With times being so hard why not rent it out?" His voice was deeply guttural, but over years of silence his throat could not produce tones in any other way.

Mrs. Lovett didn't seem to notice his obviously brooding manner. "What, up there? Naw, no one'll go near it." Mrs. Lovett was silent for a moment, as though she was pondering something. "People think it's haunted."

Todd blinked. "Haunted?"

Mrs. Lovett strode toward him, her behavior less ostentatious than before. "Yeah, and whose to say they're wrong? You see, years ago, something happened up there. Something not very nice."

Mrs. Lovett dropped into the chair beside Todd, but the latter didn't move. He instead focused his gaze on the fire flickering in the stone hearth. When it was clear that Mrs. Lovett was hesitating to continue, Todd urged her with a tone of disinterested bluntness.

"Were you familiar with the previous tenants?"

"Yes sir, for a while that is. Before the unpleasantness, a barber used to reside there. Oh and he was a sight if I ever saw one sir. But he was transported for life. I've never seen such a beautiful face, and such an unforgettable one too." Mrs. Lovett's tone suggested she was making a private revelation, but Todd was not interested in her knowledge of his identity. Soon enough Mrs. Lovett continued. "Barker 'is name was, Benjamin Barker."

"What was his crime?" Todd asked indistinctly.

"Foolishness." Came the reply. "He had a wife, you see. Pretty, but caught up in her up in her grieving. Poor thing, could have had the moon on a string had she any sense at all. Anyway, the Judge took a fancy to her, and every day he'd stand below her window; send her flowers and silliness like that. But the fool did nothing but sulk up in her room, day in and day out." Mrs. Lovett leaned back into her chair casually. "I still remember it as though it were yesterday. The Beadle comes callin' on 'er, saying the Judge 'as seen the error of 'is ways, or some rubbish like that. So she leaves, thinkin' the Judge 'as repented. Foolish notion. Course, when she goes there they're 'aving a ball on in masks. She wandered about, tormented, and drank to drown out 'er sorrows. Well, you see sir, the Judge was there but not as contrite as the Beadle said. Poor soul, out of her wits, she wan't to match for 'im. Everyone just watched, you see, seeing it 'as nothing but good sport. All of 'em stood there and laughed…poor thing."

Sweeney Todd had been bottling his horrified aggression inside for the entirety of the story, but he could not take it any longer. He stood up in a shaking fury.

"No!" His glass shattered as it hit the floor. Todd felt an odd sensation of immense sorrow flow through him.

Something inside him had broken, a tiny presence that had been hiding from the raging shadows. This tiny presence was crying in sorrow, and even an emotionless creature like Sweeney Todd could not ignore it.

"Would no one…have mercy on her?" The voice didn't sound like his own, so rapt it was with regret and devastation.

Todd had been so engrossed in his own thoughts he had forgotten Mrs. Lovett was there. She leaned forward, her eyes wide with recognition.

"So it is you." She breathed quietly. "Benjamin Barker."

Todd's gaze remained empty, and tears began to fight their way out of his relentlessly unresponsive demeanor. However, none broke through his impeccable restraint. Yet the poor soul still locked inside him was so distraught with utter misery that the horrible emotions would not keep out of Todd's mind.

"Where is Lucy?" Todd whispered, almost unconsciously. "Where is my wife?"

There was a pause, but finally Mrs. Lovett answered his question.

"Poisoned herself. Arsenic…from the apothecary around the corner." Mrs. Lovett was silent with what seemed like regret. "Tried to stop 'er. But she wouldn't listen to me."

Todd's breaths became less steady as he attempted to sort out this tragic happenstance. His jaw was trembling slightly in response to the news, but he gave no other indication that he regretted what had occurred. Finally, Mrs. Lovett continued.

"And he's got your daughter."

At this Sweeney Todd felt his enraged emotion attack him like a strike to the stomach. His eyes glazed over not with sadness, but the only emotion he'd been able to use to shield himself during his years in prison. Rage. He gritted his teeth together in barely restrained fury.

"He?" Todd growled inhumanly. "Judge Turpin?"

"Adopted her. Like 'is own."

As Todd felt his blood boil unmercifully, unbidden thoughts surfaced in his mind.

_Dead…? Lucy…? Why? Why did this happen? Wasn't my suffering enough to appease the merciless fates, why did my family have to suffer? I was not there to protect them. And Turpin has Johanna? My child… my little girl? _

These thoughts belonged to Benjamin Barker. In a moment, they were extinguished, and replaced with untamable hatred that threatened to consume him. Todd strode to the window to calm his anger. Absently he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. Mrs. Lovett spoke behind him as he glared out the window.

Todd exhaled slowly. "Fifteen years… Sweating, in a living hell, on a false charge." He lowered his voice to no more then a growl. "Fifteen years dreaming…I might come home to a wife and child."

Finally Mrs. Lovett stood up, quite calm during the entire episode. She placed her hands against her hips with a slight shrug.

"Well, can't say the years 'ave been particularly kind to you, Mr. Barker."

Todd spun around, his eyes taking on a new light. He took the sorrow he felt for his family and buried it, using this unfortunate knowledge to fuel his need for vengeance.

"No." He would have himself be attached to that name any longer. "Not Barker."

Mrs. Lovett lifted one brow in confusion, and Todd reintroduced himself.

"It's Todd now…Sweeney Todd…and he will have his revenge."


	4. IV

**-IV-**

"Yes, thank you very much."

Clara inclined her head to the merchant and hefted her basket of vegetables. The long walk from the market to Judge Turpin's manor in Fleet Street seemed to grow longer each time she trekked it. However, she was thankful for some time to herself. She remembered not long ago, Johanna would accompany her to gather the food for the meals, but when she grew older Turpin put a stop to that. Clara could not understand why the old coot wouldn't let her outside. It was unhealthy to remain cooped up indoors for long periods of time, and yet the "master" would not be swayed.

Clara pushed through the crowds, grateful when the people began to thin out. When she finally found some room to walk without brushing into others, Clara thought about the Barkers for perhaps the hundredth time. Not a week passed by when she wasn't thinking about their tragic situation, and wishing that somehow she could learn more. Although Johanna had taken up most of her time when she'd been a child, the girl was sixteen now, and didn't need coddling over any longer. It was during this free time that Clara found herself wondering exactly how strong a part Judge Turpin played in Mr. Barker's arrest. Surely the latter had not done anything so horrible to warrant life imprisonment. Yet Clara regrettably found herself hoping that Mr. Barker remained away from Fleet Street if he was ever reclaimed his freedom. It would be devastating for him to find out what happened to his poor wife. And their daughter? What of her?

Clara had suspected the child she'd heard crying on the night of Mrs. Barker's demoralizing experience was the daughter, but that had not been confirmed. Neither Mildred nor Ophelia knew what could have happened to this unfortunate child. Clara shook her head in exasperation, and ultimately decided to take the long way home, considering she had time to spare. She decided to take a look at Mrs. Mooney's pie shop once again, although she'd never have the courage to enter. The woman would probably give her a sound licking just as a reflex in punishment to Clara's flight almost fifteen years ago. However, Clara, being thirty-four years of age, could probably take the old ninny now. Clara smiled fiendishly at the thought, but continued onward, past the shop.

Soon, Clara approached the street of Mr. and Mrs. Barkers' former residence, and she felt herself exhale deeply in regret. Poor souls. As she continued down the street, she paused for a moment. Her eyes had fixed themselves on a woman, Mrs. Lovett, by the looks of it, as she began climbing up the stairs to the barbershop. However, it was not Mrs. Lovett that had grasped Clara's attention. It was the man accompanying her. From this distance, Clara could make out black hair and a very erect posture. He moved as though he perceived the earth would fall from beneath his feet at any moment. Yet despite how far Clara was away, a pang of familiarity shook her to the point of gaping. Only one identity entered her mind

"Benjamin Barker…?" Clara's voice was hardly a whisper.

_____________________

Sweeney Todd followed Mrs. Lovett up the staircase to his old home. She quickly fitted the key into the hole and jiggled it a moment before opening the door. Todd stood at the threshold for a moment, letting the door squeak open and glancing about the room with a haunted expression. The walls, once a pretty shade of gold that would brighten the room, were peeled and musty. The yellow paper flaked like the sores on a leper, and the shade had dulled to an ugly grayish umber. Mrs. Lovett offered him a sympathetic gaze from across the room.

"Come in." She offered. "Nothing to be afraid of, love."

Todd took a steadying breath as he entered the room. When his gaze caught an old cradle in the corner of the room, he felt his heart skip. He began walking toward it without thinking, and slowly lifted the dusty blanket that covered it. Underneath, Todd saw a broken doll hiding in the dirty otherwise empty crib. Something in Todd tried to soften, but it was no use. When he heard Mrs. Lovett fiddling with the floorboards he released the blanket and turned toward her. Mrs. Lovett tenderly reached inside a secret compartment and retrieved a box protected by a dusty cloth.

When the cloth was removed Todd felt his pulse quicken in excitement as his gaze passed across the familiar holder. Mrs. Lovett handed the box to him gently, looking up at him to see his reaction.

"When they came for the girl I hid them away." She offered a tiny shrug. "Could 'ave sold 'em. Bu' I didn't."

Sweeney Todd lifted the lid of the box, revealing a perfect line of seven immaculate razors. Mrs. Lovett leaned forward with an awestruck expression. Todd gazed at his treasures, completely entranced. Mrs. Lovett kept her eyes fixed on the razors even as she spoke.

"Those 'andles is chased silver, ain't they?"

Todd ran a hand over the beautiful razors, his expression mesmerized.

"Silver." He said suddenly. "Yes."

Todd lifted one precious treasure in his hand, gazing at it with a small smile. "Finally, we meet again…my friends…"

He flipped the razor open, the blade shining even in the dim light. He spied his reflection within them, and never realized until that moment how much he missed them.

"Glorious, aren't they?" Todd spoke with a deep admiration, not desiring an answer.

"Beautiful." Mrs. Lovett agreed, however she seemed to be looking straight through the object her companion was admiring.

Sweeney Todd stood, holding two razors in his hands and feeling his rage flow through his hands and into the sharp blades. A wicked grin spread over his features.

"How much we have in common, locked away for so many years…like me. Do not fear, my friends, we're together now, and we will do wonders…"

Sweeney Todd was so enthralled with his own private reconciliation that he didn't notice Mrs. Lovett rise. Her eyes were shining with a forgotten love rekindled. She reached out and brushed her fingertips along Todd's back. When he showed no sign of reacting, she came even closer.

"I'm so glad you're home…Mr. T." She spoke quietly, resting her hand on Todd's shoulder.

"For now, my friends, you must rest. Soon I'll unfold you." Sweeney Todd remained oblivious as he spun about and returned to where his other blades rested. He returned one razor back to its place, but the other he continued to admire.

"Oh Mr. Todd. Always had a fondness for you, I did." Mrs. Lovett's voice was soft, not wanting to be heard, though the man before had his attention on other matters.

"My lucky friend, you'll soon drip precious…rubies." Todd grinned in strengthening excitement.

As Sweeney Todd gazed into the blade's reflection, he instantly remembered the other presence in the room. He turned his head to the side, offering only a view of his profile, showing Mrs. Lovett a countenance that had become emotionless once again.

"Leave me."

Mrs. Lovett opened her mouth as though to speak, but thought better of it and then closed it again. Todd heard the swish of her skirt against the wood, and then she was gone. His attentions returned to the blade in his hand. Slowly, he stood, feeling all the bottled hatred and desperate desire for revenge begin to transform into wild anticipation. When he reached his full height, he extended his arm, beaming at the razor in his grasp.

"At last." He spoke with a sinister expectation. "My arm is complete again."

For a moment he simply remained in that position, gazing out the wide window at the prickling forest of smokestacks and towers that lay before him. He exhaled a marvelous breath of relief. Even after learning that his wife was killed and his daughter adopted by his hated enemy, Todd was proud that he could keep his attention focused on what was truly important. Being, of course, the death of the Judge and avenging of his family. Suddenly, Todd heard a tentative knock at his door. He ignored the noise, continuing to marvel at the shimmering blade. The door slowly opened.

"Excuse me?" The voice was far too timid to be Mrs. Lovett's.

Sweeney Todd turned about, glowering at the woman who dared disturb him. She was of average height, and wore her auburn hair in straight locks past her shoulders. In her arm she carried a basket full of food, and her eyes were as wide as saucers.

"I apologize for my intrusion, but…" The woman trailed off, and then tried again. "I thought…when I saw you coming up the stairs… Forgive me, Mr. Barker."

Todd's posture stiffened and his eyes darkened. "What did you call me?"

The woman wore a confused expression, as if she'd forgotten what she said. Then she pursed her lips together to try again.

"I'm sorry. Are you not Mr. Benjamin Barker?"

There was a moment of silence as Todd glared at the girl. She looked to be fairly young, but not much younger than he. Nothing about this girl sparked any recognition within him, and so he turned away from her.

"No. You've made a mistake."

"But, I was certain…"

The girl was not easily deterred. But Todd could fix that. With the razor still held in one hand he took a strong step toward her, watching her face pale as he scowled.

"I said," He repeated in a very low, very dangerous voice. "You have made a mistake."

He stood there before the hesitant woman, waiting for a response. She took a step back, mouth opening and closing as though she could not find anything to say. Finally, she broke from her curious spell.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you sir. It won't happen again."

Sweeney Todd turned away, assuming the woman had scurried away as fast as she could. Whoever she was, he was convinced she would not mention his name to anyone else. He planned to make his first kill a worthy one, and therefore, she was of no concern to him. He replaced the blade into its place, and gazed at them with a soft smile.

"Rest, my friends, until the time comes for you to serve your purpose."


	5. V

**-V-**

Clara walked down the street in a daze. What had just happened? She recalled gathering her courage and stepping up the stairway after Mrs. Lovett had departed. She remembered knocking, and then opening the door. When she saw the room, her blood had run cold, and when she saw the man, she had forgotten her words completely. She'd stuttered out some nonsense, and hadn't even noticed she'd spoken his name. It was when she called him Mr. Barker did he react so harshly to her presence.

She shook her head violently, her heart still pounding in her chest. That man, he was Mr. Barker. She knew this. He was unmistakable, and yet, the difference in his temperament had changed so drastically she found herself wondering if she _had_ been mistaken. She shook her head in response to her self-conjured question. Impossible. The man who stood in the ruins of what used to be a warm and caring household was most undeniably the man she remembered. And yet, how could a man who'd been so generous and kind change so much? She thought back to his appearance. Benjamin Barker's hair had been a pleasant dark brown, and his skin used to be bronzed with a sun-kissed complexion. His countenance was warm and comforting, and Clara had not seen him without a smile on his face. Now, this man who possessed the same features as Mr. Barker possessed jet-black hair and his face was as pale as a corpse. His eyes were dark and his expression was aged far more than fifteen years; grated down by obvious hatred and anger. However, strangely enough, the age was apparent only in his dark eyes. His face was flawlessly elegant, as though he were some well-endowed count rather than a simple barber. What had also struck Clara with a flicker of shock was the ghostly white streak that stood in stark contrast to his unruly black hair.

Clara continued to move, feeling her pulse quicken and unable to calm it down. She felt so incredibly odd that she could hardly cope. Soon her cascade of questions began again. How did Mr. Barker escape from prison? What had happened to him that could have drained every bit of life from his eyes? Clara supposed she could figure out the latter question for herself. Being stolen away from home and family on a false charge, and living in constant fear for your loved ones and helplessness that there is nothing you could do for them...it was horrible. And to think he might have known of the Judge's despicable intentions before he was taken away. What could such a horrendous situation do to a man? Clara recalled Mr. Barker's cold, merciless expression and dark, unforgiving eyes, and supposed she received her answer. She bowed her head, feeling an insidious anger boil within her directed at Judge Turpin. How could a man, and a judge no less, do something so horrible to another man just to satisfy his own indulgence? It was utterly despicable. Deep in thought, Clara nearly collided into a young gentleman who smelt vaguely of seawater.

"Oh, pardon me mum." The polite young man spoke quickly.

"No need for apology sir, the fault was mine."

Clara left the gentleman behind and started toward the servants' entrance, wondering how much longer she would be able to tolerate Judge Turpin's contemptible presence.

_____________________

The day had brightened, and Johanna realized that it was midday without even glancing at a clock. Being kept in the same room for days on end had taught her how to judge the position of the sun. Though, she had to admit, that particular skill was difficult to maintain thanks to London's unpredictable weather. She sighed. She had discarded her book a few hours ago, and she now restlessly fiddled with her embroidery. All the while, she was captivated by the beautiful songs the birds sung to her. She smiled slowly, and gazed at them. Her urge to sing overwhelmed her restraint, and she accompanied the birds in their strange joy.

"_Green finch and linnet bird…nightingale, black bird. How is it you sing?_" She gazed out the window once again, staring out into the beautiful sky. "_Outside the sky waits…beckoning, just beyond the bars. How can you remain, staring at the rain, burdened by the stars? How is it you sing…anything?_"

As Johanna continued to sing to soothe her sad heart she found herself glancing down and meeting the gaze of a very attractive young man. He was sitting on a bench, his finger marking his place on a map. However, his eyes were fixed upon hers with such a delightful childlike fascination that she could stop herself from smiling. She knew she shouldn't be making any kind of contact with the boy, but she couldn't help herself. She began to sing once again.

"_Green finch and linnet bird, nightingale, blackbird, teach me how to sing. If I cannot fly…let, me sing._"

Johanna glanced down at the boy, and released another small smile.

_____________________

Clara left the vegetables on the wooden table, removing her shawl and doing her best to ignore Ophelia's constant complaints. She brushed a strand of hair from out of her eyes and started toward Johanna's room. As she took a step she felt herself pitch forward. The Beadle rushed passed her, not bothering to apologize after striking her with his bulk. She groped for the wall and was able to catch herself, but she still found herself uttering a string of curses under her breath. She grimaced and continued up the steps. When she reached the top, she could hear the sounds of voices.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, my lord. A young man on the street. Can't take his eyes off her."

"I see. Come. This young man must be taught a lesson in propriety."

"Yes my lord."

Clara darted out of the way as the Judge and Beadle rushed through the hall and then down the stairs. When she heard them pass she felt her heart skip in apprehension. She rushed into Johanna's room without knocking and shut the door behind her.

"Johanna!" She snapped harsher than she intended. "Get away from the window this moment."

Johanna did as commanded without question. Her brows lifted in confusion, and her expression betrayed a look of hurt.

"What is it Nana? What's wrong?" Johanna asked.

Clara strode toward her and peaked out the window. She saw a young man wandering below her window, and inhaled curtly as she turned back to her charge. That must have been the young man they'd been talking about.

"Johanna. Do you know that boy?"

Johanna laced her fingers together nervously. "What boy Nana?"

"You know to who I'm referring. Do you know him?"

Johanna took a step back and shook her head. "This is absurd."

Clara bit her lip, and looked out the window again. The young man was focused on someone at the front door, and as he entered the manor Clara gasped. Johanna was looking more and more frightened by the moment.

"Nana? Please tell me what's going on."

Clara faced her. "Johanna, things are getting dangerous. The Judge is unhealthily possessive. You must make sure you do not engage any man walking down the street, do you understand?"

Johanna was shaken. "Engage? I didn't engage anyone. He was looking up at me and I smiled at him. How can that be a crime? It was not as though I considered leaping through the window."

Clara understood where the young woman was coming from, however the Judge's wrath was not something to be taken lightly. Clara grasped Johanna's shoulders and guided her to the bed.

"Stay here for a moment Johanna. I will return."

Then Clara rushed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She silently scurried down the staircase and followed the sound of voices. She moved as quietly as she could, and concealed herself as she listened to the exchange taking place in the parlor.

"…everything you've ever wished to do with a woman."

Clara bit her lip. That was judge Turpin's voice. Clara was well aware of his sexual tendencies, and she was only too lucky never to have been a victim to his desires. Yet she supposed that frequent visits to the brothel had curbed his lust enough to leave her alone over the years. Clara could not see who was in the room, but a quietly uncomfortable voice put a picture of the young man in her mind. She could feel his nervousness from here.

"I think there must be some mistake." The boy said softly.

Turpin was silent for an instant, and then spoke again. "I think not."

Clara felt escalated worry prickle her skin as she heard the slight rustle of movement.

"You gandered at my ward, Johanna, you gandered at her." Turpin accused dangerously.

There was a muffled scramble for words by the young man as he attempted to deny the accusation. Turpin was not satisfied.

"Yes sir…you gandered." He interrupted the young man's explanation.

Finally the man got a word in.

"I meant no harm."

"Your meaning is immaterial." Turpin spoke devilishly. "Mark me. If I see your face again, on this street, you'll rue the day you were born."

Clara retreated back up the stairs as the boy was carried out of the house. No doubt the Beadle would give him a good whipping, since that's how Turpin usually treated guests of the manor, but otherwise Clara didn't fear that the boy would be killed. It was only a glance after all, and he wasn't the first young man who was held in rapture by Johanna's pure golden beauty. Clara ascended the steps wearily. She would have to speak to Johanna, despite how hard it was to do so. She wished with all her heart that she could help Johanna escape from this dreadful place. However, when one's guardian was an obsessively protective, high-powered judge, escaping came more difficult.

As Clara wandered down the hallway, another question of many popped into her head without delay. She wrinkled her forehead. What would the Judge do if he was aware of Mr. Barker's return to Fleet Street?


	6. VI

**-VI-**

The market was bustling with activity, but Sweeney Todd was unresponsive to the organized chaos that raged around him. Mrs. Lovett was by his side, scanning the crowd for a particular merchant cart. When she caught a glimpse of it she nodded toward the direction.

"Comes 'ere every Thursday." She said in a blunt relay of information. "Italian. All the rage, he is."

Todd nodded slightly. He could see the stand now, and already a throng of people had formed before it. Benjamin Barker had been an exceptional barber, and even through those horrid years spent in prison the talent had not deteriorated. He was as adept as he had ever been, though perhaps a tad more aggressive. He needed to rekindle his reputation, and the quickest way to do this was to challenge the skill of a barber popular among the gentlemen of London. As Todd considered how skilled a theatrical merchant could possibly be, he caught a familiar glimpse in the crowd. His eyes locked on the portly face of Beadle Bamford, and he was unable to control his thirst for the man's blood. He remembered the Beadle's taunts at Benjamin Barker's warning fifteen years ago, and the world collapsed around his desire to execute that threat. He reached for the razor at his belt and took an excited step forward. Suddenly he felt a hand at his chest, barring him from his intended course.

"Hang on, love." Mrs. Lovett chided gently without taking her gaze off the stage.

Sweeney Todd's compassionless eyes followed the Beadle as he milled about the crowd, a crooked yellow smile on his ugly face. Todd followed Mrs. Lovett's implication. He couldn't butcher a man in the street. Such an action would send him right back to prison with not a hope of carrying out his vengeance. So Todd concealed the blade with an angry frown; his barely controlled restraint driving him mad with impatience.


	7. VII

**-VII-**

Toby rushed around manically to ready himself for Signor Pirelli's Elixir demonstration. He brushed dust off his coat and quickly placed the scratchy blond wig over his head. Signor Pirelli sat in a chair amid the elaborate costumes and props that cluttered the inside of the small stagecoach. In one hand he held a bottle of wine he'd purchased with the funds acquired by his pick pocketing servant. The Signor took a swing.

"Remember Boy, sell ez many products as you can, and z'ere may be a dezent supper for yo'."

Toby nodded in acknowledgment and reached for the big drum he used to catch people's attention. Toby always tried his very hardest to sell Signor Pirelli's elixir, even despite the fact he knew what the foul stuff was concocted of. He had no qualms about being dishonest, what did bother him was not making enough money to eat. So Toby put on the most 'adorable child' face he could create and stepped out onto the stage. He was immediately stricken with excitement. The demonstration hadn't even started yet, and already there were more patrons standing before the stage than last week. Toby decided he could only add to the group, and so he pounded on his drum with an excited hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention please?"

Toby then laid the heavy drum to rest at the corner of the stage, and focused on the crowd of people with their eyes fixed on him. Toby knew nothing of stage fright. He would gladly stand on his head to convince these people to offer their money. Desperation was a powerful stimulant.

"Do you wake up in the morning to shame and despair to discover you pillow is covered with hair?" Toby asked loudly.

He got a few nods from the potential customers, and so he put more energy into his introduction.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, from now on you can awaken at ease! Gentleman you are about to see something wot rose from the dead…"

Toby tore off his had and let his false blond tresses fall to his shoulders. "…on the top of my head!"

When he heard a tremor of inquisitive amusement from the crowd, Toby grasped two bottles of the yellow mixture labeled, _**Pirelli's Miracle Elixir**_.

"Gentlemen, try Pirelli's Miracle Elixir and you'll have the nicest, thickest head of hair you could ever imagine. All it takes is a few drops and your hair'll be so thick you'll 'ave to thin it once a week."

Toby tossed a bottle out the crowd, and a gentleman caught it with eager interest. Toby dropped to his knee before a particularly bald man and dabbed a few drops of elixir on the man's bare head. The man began to rub it hesitantly into his scalp.

"Does Pirelli's stimulate the growth sir? You can have my oath sir, 'tis unique."

The man took a whiff of the mixture and recoiled in surprise, causing Toby to wince and manually replace the man's hand to gently massaging his scalp.

"Stimulat'n, i'n' it?" He asked with a wink.

Soon, above the crowd a deep voice of disapproval climbed above the clamor.

"Pardon me, ma'am, what's that awful stench?"

Toby got to his feet and scanned the crowd for the source of the voice. Soon enough a lady's accompanied it.

"Are we standing near an open trench? Pardon me, sir, what's that awful stench?"

The patrons were glancing curiously, as was Toby, at the couple betraying contempt for the interesting product. However Toby was determined to keep the crowd's attention. He lifted another bottle and held it up for all to see.

"Try Pirelli's Miracle Elixir, anything wot's slick will soon sprout curls. Take my advice gentlemen, when they see 'ow thick sir, you can 'ave your pick sir of the girls!"

The man in the crowd now had a bottle of the mixture in his hand, and took a slight sniff of it. He furrowed his brow in instant distain.

"It smells like piss."

Then the woman beside him took a whiff. "Smells, like…eww!"

Toby gritted his teeth in irritation. The dark haired man studied it more thoroughly.

"It looks like piss." Then he shot a glance toward Toby and lifted the vial in the air to offer an ample view. "This is piss, piss with ink."

Toby began to panic. The others in the audience looked to be rethinking their previous excitement and taking the dark haired man's discovery into consideration. Toby had to fight if he wanted, and he most certainly did, the crowd's attention back.

"Pirelli's elixir will activate your roots, sir!" Toby assured the crowd.

"But keep it off your boots, or it'll eat right through."

Toby grasped for anything that would revert the patrons' attention back to purchasing the concoction.

"Yes, get Pirelli's, use a bottle of it…ladies seem to love it."

The woman grinned cunningly. "Flies do to."

Toby heard a clattering behind him, and immediately his blood ran cold. He scurried off the stage before Signor Pirelli appeared, not wanting to be in the doubtlessly angered man's way when he addressed the jeerers. Toby blended into the first row of patrons and watched as Signor Pirelli, garbed in a cobalt blue suit, revealed himself.

"I am Adolfo Pirelli, za king of the barber, za barber of kings. Good day to you all. I would like to ask, in all politeness, who hasa za nerva to say, my elixir is piss. Who says zis?"

Toby put his hands in his pockets, not surprised at the silence that followed Signor Pirelli's accusation. The Italian was downright frightening when he was angry, though Toby had to admit he was keeping his anger well restrained. Suddenly, a voice cut into the silence.

"I do." There didn't seem to be a hint of uneasiness in the dark haired man's voice. "I am Mr. Sweeney Todd, of Fleet Street."

Toby tried to glance through the motionless people to catch another glimpse of this Sweeney Todd, and when the man stepped through the crowd toward the stage Toby had a very good view of this strange man. Something he hadn't noticed before was a streak of white brushing into his wild black hair.

"I have opened a bottle of Pirelli's Elixir and I say to you it is nothing but an errant fraud, concocted from piss and ink."

Pirelli frowned and Toby felt a quick rush of jubilation. He'd never heard anyone talk in such a way to his master. It was satisfying to hear. Mr. Todd continued without hesitation.

"Furthermore- Signor- I have serviced no kings, yet I wager I can shave a cheek with ten times more dexterity, then any street mountebank."

Toby felt a grin tug at his lips, but the daring man was not yet finished. He lifted two glistening silver items from his belt and displayed them to the still silent crowd.

"You see these razors? I lay them against five pound."

Toby watched Signor Pirelli's expression carefully, noticing with confusion that his master's eyes seemed to make some sort of internal revelation. He was transfixed by the razor Mr. Todd held before him. Mr. Todd met Signor Pirelli's gaze with unwavering resoluteness.

"You are no match, sir. Either accept my challenge, or reveal yourself as a sham."

Signor Pirelli, finally broken from the spell the strange razors cast on him, smiled haughtily and he stood up to his full height. Toby noticed his master did not look particularly confident at winning the wager, and yet his energized smile was genuine. Toby raised a brow in perplexity.

"You hear zis, foolish man? Now, please, you will zee how he will regreta hisa folly."

Signor Pirelli yanked off his long cape and tossed it to one side. His face scanned the crowd.

"Toby!" He called with a smack of his stick upon the stage.

Toby chewed his lip nervously, but he didn't skip a beat. He clambered onto the stage to prepare for the contest as quickly as he could. While Toby readied Signor Pirelli's supplies he heard Mr. Todd ask in a loud voice who would fancy a free shave. Unsurprisingly, an entire chorus of gentlemen announced their willingness to participate. Toby pulled Signor Pirelli's velvet barber chair from the side of the arena and placed it before his master. The Mr. Todd's penetrating voice spoke again after two gentlemen had placed themselves in the chairs.

"Will Beadle Bamford be the judge?"

As the Beadle graciously accepted the invitation Toby took another look at Signor Pirelli. The man was glancing sidelong at Mr. Todd, a look of severe calculation on his face. Soon, his expression became one of smug conceit once again. The Beadle stood before the throng of excited onlookers.

"The fastest, smoothest shave, will be declared the winner." The Beadle announced, and then he blew a thin, squealing whistle to begin the contest. Toby reluctantly handed Signor Pirelli the leather sharpening strap and held the other end taut. Signor Pirelli's attentions were focused on Mr. Todd as he slid his razor up and down the strap, causing Toby to gasp each time the razor carelessly scraped over his knuckles. He had grown used to it, of course, but it didn't make the scraping any less painful.

Signor Pirelli began directly lathering the gentleman's chin, his pace quick. Yet as he finished with the foam, he glanced toward Sweeney Todd. His opponent was taking his time, sharpening his own razor with almost a tender affection. The Signor smiled and began to shave.

"I woulda like to say, signorini and signori, you are looking at a man who haz hada za glory to shave-a the Pope. Mr. Sweeney whoever- I begga yur pardon-'ll say it was only a cardinal nope." Signor Pirelli grinned happily, quite please with himself. "It wasa the Pope!"

Mr. Todd still had not even begin to lather his own patron, instead taking pains to ensure his blade was as immaculate and sharp as it could be. Signor Pirelli was nearly half finished. Toby watched on with fascination.

"It takes a mast-a of za art to shave'a za face. It taka za will, it taka za brains, it taka za grace, to shave-a za face, from early infancy da talent give to me by God. It taka passion to trima za beard, to maka za bristle clean as a whistle."

As Signor Pirelli continued to announce his own talents to the crowd, Toby saw that Mr. Todd had finally applied the lather to his patron. Though Toby suspected it would not come to much. The Signor was nearly finished as it was. However, as the Signor continued to spout off his incredible skills, Mr. Todd positioned himself directly before the gentleman. Toby's mouth fell ajar as Mr. Todd shaved the man's chin with fluent and miraculous grace. It took him scarcely four seconds to complete his work, and Signor Pirelli had not yet noticed the speed in which his opponent had so swiftly beaten him. The crowd gasped in amazement, and the Beadle gestured toward Mr. Todd.

"And the winner…is Todd." He announced.

A rumbling of applause followed the Beatle's statement, including the woman who had accompanied Mr. Todd. Toby was surprised at the deviously pleased expression on the woman's face. Signor Pirelli was seething as he strode toward Mr. Todd, but he didn't give any outward appearances to how irritated he was. Toby was quite surprised. He'd been expecting his master to be much angrier, after all, most of their income came from the elixir, and now it was declared a fraud and Signor Pirelli was no longer the most talented barber in the city. Toby feared what that would mean for himself. Signor Pirelli nodded gracefully.

"Sir, I bow before a skill far great-a den my own."

Mr. Todd was obviously not a man of pleasantries. He lifted his hand without looking at Signor Pirelli.

"The five pound." He reminded, impatiently.

Signor Pirelli grudgingly pulled out the red velvet purse and produced a five pound, placing it in Mr. Todd's hand with consideration. Toby stood just behind the Signor, and therefore caught the measure of strange familiarity in his tone.

"May za good lord smile on you. Until we meet again."

Mr. Todd didn't even bother glancing in Signor Pirelli's direction again, simply gathering his belongings and maneuvering off the stage. Signor Pirelli was stiff for a moment.

"Come, boy." Signor Pirelli addressed Toby, and the latter was so focused on what had just occurred that the strike the Signor slapped across his face came as quite a shock.

Toby was thrown to the side by the strength of the momentum, and before he could catch his footing Signor Pirelli booted him hard in the backside. Toby went tumbling into the concealed chamber, not particularly keen on being on the object to curb his master's fury at being defeated. However he supposed the choice was not his to make. As Toby endured strike after strike, he thought about the mysterious barber and where he came from. He'd never heard of Sweeney Todd before, and he'd spent the entirety of his life around Fleet Street. Soon enough, the Signor beat Toby so senseless he couldn't think of anything at all.


	8. VIII

**-VIII-**

Sweeney Todd stepped down to the cobblestones with a smock in one hand and his lather bowl in the other. The sounds of Pirelli smacking his servant boy about echoed from the tawdry wagon. Todd focused an emotionless gaze on the task of stuffing his occupational equipment back into his bag. Mrs. Lovett leaned forward to assist him.

"I suppose it's just me gentle heart." She sighed as she dusted off Todd's coat absently. "But I do hate to see a boy treated like that."

It made no difference to Todd. As he closed his bag a well-dressed chap wearing a condescending grin of approval suddenly confronted him.

"Congratulations Mr. Todd. May I ask, sir, do you have your own establishment?"

Todd offered him a blank look as though he hadn't heard him correctly. Mrs. Lovett noticed this silence and stepped in to reply.

"He certainly does. Sweeney Todd's tonsorial parlor, above my meat pie emporium in Fleet Street."

The gentleman nodded in gratitude before tipping his hat and proceeding on his way. Mrs. Lovett blew out a long, weary breath as she draped Todd's jacket about his shoulders.

"You ought to be accommodating to those gentlemen, Mr. T. Thought that was why you came 'ere in the first place."

Sweeney Todd wasn't listening. His gaze had locked itself on one of the figures he'd seen only in his nightmares for fifteen horrid years, a man he could hardly wait to gut with the blade concealed beneath his jacket. He marched over to the Beadle with an unreadable countenance.

"I thank you sir." Todd spoke with the soothing hiss of a snake. "You are a paragon of integrity."

The forced smile was as cold as the winter snow, but the Beadle didn't seem to notice it. Nor did he show any sign of recognizing the face previously belonging to Benjamin Barker. The Beadle's plump visage rippled as he offered a smirk that was probably meant to be a smile.

"Well, I try to do my best for my friends and neighbors."

Todd noticed that although Mrs. Lovett was close by, she was doing nothing to stop him from exacting his revenge. He could feel her gaze studying his back, but she would not interfere if he chose to kill the Beadle now. So what was he waiting for? There was still a crowd, surely, but with the Beadle so close…

Engrossed within his own ponderings Todd had missed what the Beadle had said. He shook his head as though attempting to banish a slight headache.

"Sir?"

"Your establishment is in Fleet Street, is it not?"

A new plan began to brew in Todd's despicable mind, and he felt his dark expression lift slightly. "Yes sir."

"Well then, Mr. Todd, you will surely see me there, before the week is out."

Sweeney Todd lifted his mouth into a small smile. "You will be welcome, Beadle Bamford. And I can guarantee to give you without a penny's charge, the closest shave you will ever know."

The Beadle smiled with no idea of what Todd really intended by his promise. He bowed slightly and started off in the opposite direction. Todd's smile disappeared as he watched the man depart. His fingers were screaming to grab hold of his blade and run it through the Beadle's flabby throat. Instead, he watched him disappear into the flowing ocean of people. He felt Mrs. Lovett at his side. She took him gently by the arm.

"Come on love." She urged sympathetically, leading him through the crowd of people. "Let's go home."

Neither spoke as they made their way back to Fleet Street, but Mrs. Lovett's hand remained against Todd's arm as though she was worried he'd pitch forward if she released him. The warm contact felt strange to Sweeney Todd, but he had more serious matters to concern himself with. He would have to ready his shop in preparation for the Beadle's arrival. '_Before the week is out_' seemed far too long to wait.

_____________________

Johanna felt a warm tear trickle down her cheek. She blinked sadly, but didn't bother to wipe the nuisance away. Despite Clara's urging that she stay away from the window for the time being Johanna remained, not wanting to be denied her only solace of viewing the outside world. She wouldn't be able to survive otherwise. Her hands remained in her lap as she watched the clouds go by. She sighed heavily, and then cast her gaze downward. Below her, on the street a woman Johanna recognized but never met scurried about the road, visiting each busy civilian in turn in hopes of a penny. Johanna shook her head sadly. The beggar woman lingered there longer than she could remember, and most people were shockingly uncouth to her. Johanna would have liked to go down and offer her something, maybe a slice of bread.

As Johanna considered, she spied a flicker of movement below her window just concealed by one of the manor's pillars. Johanna instantly recognized this as the same young man she had seen before. She felt her excitement shoot flurries through her, and she bit her lip in contemplation. Her hand moved on its own, reaching in her trinket box for a key decorated with a pink ribbon. Johanna could not live this way any longer. She wanted to get out, and if this boy would brave the danger to help her she would be so very grateful. In the back of her mind she knew it was dangerous, for herself as well as the young man whose name she didn't even know. However, she threw her caution to the wind. She lifted the window with little effort, and after a nonchalant toss she let the key tumble through the air. The key was fairly well useless, good only for opening her locked window. She would never be able to get her hands on the key to the front door, but she believed that the key itself would serve to communicate her silent desire of escape.

The young man picked it up immediately, and glanced at her again. Johanna smiled as warmly as she could manage. She could have leaned out that window for hours. The young man was quite handsome, although his eyes looked to be an abnormal distance apart. Yet Johanna thought it only added to the charm of his face. His eyes she could see even from her distance, and they were a sparkling, youthful blue. It was his smile that captivated Johanna. As she admired the boy beneath her window, she could hear an odd rustling coming from her door. When she looked back to take a final glance at the boy, she found he was gone. She exhaled slowly as she leaned back into her room, shutting the window quietly as she did so.


	9. IX

Note from the Author:

I would just like to offer a hearty **Thank you** to _Volital _for being so kind to review this story. Although reviews aren't necessary to fuel my desire to write, they are still very welcome. It's nice for an author to know that their work is being recognized. Thank you for reading and pardon the interlude. On with the story^^

-AR-

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**-IX-**

Clara wiped the animal blood off her hands with a crisp white towel. She absolutely abhorred having to cut the meat. She'd much rather chop up onions, for the burning eyes weren't quite as disconcerting as red smudges on her skin that she could never seem to fully wash away. She decided she would pay a visit to Johanna before she continued with her chores. She tossed the soiled towel in the hamper as she passed, and slowly walked up the steps.

When she saw what was transpiring just beyond Johanna's wall Clara gasped in utter shock. Judge Turpin was leaning toward the wall as though he was examining a fault in the wallpaper, but as Clara spied the tiny hole of light shining against his eye she knew exactly what was going on.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, unable to restrain herself.

Turpin stood up straight, startled, but not particularly embarrassed at being caught in such a disgusting, disgraceful act. He fixed her with a supercilious look.

"Kindly lower your voice." The Judge warned without a tremor of emotion.

Clara was far too enraged to obey such an order. She strode up to the Judge, years of bottled rage beginning to leak from her commendably restrained demeanor. Her brows cut through the bridge of her nose and she bore her teeth in utter contempt.

"How dare you? You adopt the girl as your own child and then you… Have you been keeping her here only to satisfy your own immoral temptations? How could you? She's just a child, and you are older than her father would have been!"

As she spoke, tears of anger and fear began to fall from her eyes. Turpin stared at her as though her ravings were no more passionate than if she were simply remarking on the weather.

"You are a judge. You're meant to instill the righteousness of man, uncorrupted and unbiased. How can you live with the knowledge that you are ruining a pure young woman's life?"

Finally Turpin began to step toward her, but not before Johanna threw open the door and took in the situation with confused eyes.

"Nana? What's going on?"

Before Clara had a chance to speak Turpin grasped Clara by the throat and threw her hard into the wall. He held her there, not tightening his grip but not easing the pressure either.

"Get back in your room, child." Turpin ordered Johanna.

Johanna was stunned, and couldn't move. She shook her head in bewilderment.

"No…"

The Judge didn't wait for his ward to comply. He turned about and with one strong hand pushed Johanna, forcing her back into her room. Her heel caught the rug, and she pitched backward. Turpin slammed the door as Johanna called out, but Clara was unable to make out what the girl had shouted. Turpin quickly locked the door and turned his attention back to Clara.

"You are very daring to speak such a way to me." His voice was like claws scraping across slate. "I suppose you do not understand that my intention for protecting my dear Johanna is I plan to make her my wife."

Clara didn't gasp. She couldn't find the breath to do so. How could he think of doing something like this? He could have been her grandfather's age, so unbelievable was the difference in maturity. Clara shook with rage, her fear lost now.

"She is only sixteen." She hissed.

"And as virtuous as her mother was; I have made certain of that."

It was this last statement that robbed Clara of her last restraint. She spat directly into his face, and said nothing else. Turpin was appalled, but the shock did not last long. He struck her hard across the face and dragged her down the stairs while Clara was attempting to see past the flurry of stars. He progressed directly to the servant's exit and tossed Clara out the door. Still dizzy, Clara collapsed on the ground, unable to steady herself. She could hear Turpin's voice, coldly pompous once again.

"You are discharged of your services, madam. If I ever see you poking around my home again I will send that girl to the brothel for a proper education."

Clara uttered a strangled whimper of disbelief. She would not put such an underhanded threat beneath him, not after all that had happened. She glanced up at him from the ground, her eyes red and wet with tears.

"You're supposed to guide others from the darkness, not force them to it. Already, you drowned a man in such darkness just to take advantage of a woman who loved him. God cannot forgive you for these sins."

She wanted to kill him. She wanted to kill him for young, parentless Johanna and for the poor Barkers' who did not deserve the fate they received. She saw Mr. Barker in her mind, eyes cold and dark and empty. It was the man who stood before her that had been the inflictor of his misfortune. If Turpin knew who she had been referring to he didn't let on. Instead, he reached down and grasped her roughly by her collar. Her face was hardly two inches from his.

"Continue to speak such horrendous lies and I will have you sent to the insane asylum. This business does not concern you. Not…another…word."

Then he dropped her and turned his back, slamming the door as he disappeared. Clara stared at the door for a few awful moments, and then she collapsed into a heap and wept.

_____________________

Sweeney Todd's patience was wearing thin. He had waited the entire weekend with not a trace of the Beadle. That morning he took his place by the window, scanning the streets and sharpening his blades. Mrs. Lovett sat lazily in the wide chair positioned in the centre of the room.

"Not much of a chair really, bu' it'll do." She said almost to herself, fiddling with a loose thread she'd discovered on the armrest. "Was my old Albert's chair, used to sit in it all day long he did."

Todd felt his jaw clench in frustration. "Why doesn't the Beadle come? 'Before the week is out.' That's what he said."

Mrs. Lovett gazed at him with a raised brow. "Who says the week's out, s'only Tuesday."

In anger Todd tossed the strap against the wall and began to pace. The room was quite small, and so he received hardly any relief from his marching. Mrs. Lovett rose from her chair with a long sigh.

"You know, love, you really ought to take yer time with this business. No need to distress yourself 'bout it, he'll come. And wot you gonna do after you get rid of 'im? Nothing. So take yer time; you've already waited fifteen years."

Todd was hardly listening, focusing instead on the glimmering shine of his razor. Mrs. Lovett was not put out by his unresponsiveness. She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"You know wot I've been thinkin', Mr. T? We need some daisies to brighten up this room. Looks so dreary now, as it is."

Sweeney Todd was far too committed to his revenge than to be of any use with decorating the place. He started for the door, an unknown power fueling his steps. He reached for the door and pulled it open.

"And the Judge, when'll we get to him?"

Mrs. Lovett followed him on the veranda in exasperation. "Can't you think of nothin' else? Always broodin' away on yer wrongs what happened heaven knows how many years ago." She grasped Todd by his shoulders and gently turned him about. "Come on."

She led him back inside as though he were a stubborn child and guided him to the chair. He sat down obediently, still focused on the anticipation of murdering the Beadle.

"Think about it Mr. T. You go into this thing too fast and it'll be over and done with just as quickly. You have to wait, and soon'll come." She looked at him as though trying to gain a response, but was unsuccessful. She dropped down beside him, offering a playful smile. "Don't you get it, silly man, planning the deed is what makes it so fun. Now come on, perk up. Do you think daisies are right for this place? Hmm, naw, don't rightly think so. Gillyflowers, now that's an idea. What do you think, love?"

Perhaps Mrs. Lovett did have a point. Once he killed the men who had wronged him, what would he do? Todd couldn't even manage to think that far ahead without feeling somewhat nauseous. The Beadle could only die once, same with the Judge. He would have to take his time and enjoy it. All of a sudden there was a sound of footsteps coming quickly up the steps. Following a reflex, Todd leapt out of his seat and slipped behind the door, razor at the ready. Mrs. Lovett hadn't moved, instead glancing at him with an exasperated weariness. A young man threw open the door full of disheveled excitement.

"Mr. Todd!" He called out, and paused when he saw Mrs. Lovett. "Oh, pardon me."

"Mrs. Lovett, sir." She introduced herself with a skeptical gaze.

"Pleasure mum."

Todd knew now the boy before him was Anthony, the lad he'd met on the ship bringing him to London. Anthony turned and, without any suspicion as to why Todd was lurking behind the door, began to chatter to him quickly. When Todd could not make sense of the jargon he took Anthony by the shoulder and led him to the chair.

"Slow down, son. Catch your breath and explain yourself."

Anthony collapsed in the chair, obviously thankful to get off his feet. "Yes, sorry sir. There's this woman, sad and lonely but so very beautiful. She has a guardian who keeps her locked away, but this morning she dropped this." Anthony produced a key. "A sure sign that Johanna wants me to help her. That's her name, Johanna, and Turpin is her guardian. He's a judge of some sort."

Todd felt his blood freeze in his veins as the knowledge washed over him. He glanced at Mrs. Lovett and she caught his eye with an expression of just barely concealed astonishment.

"Once he goes to court I'm going to slip in and beg her to come away with me tonight. If I could bring her here for an hour or two while I rent a coach, I would be forever in your debt."

Sweeney Todd did not respond, instead staring off into the distance. Johanna? His little girl? As sorrowful emotions began to surface Todd forced them back down. Utter blankness was the result of the internal struggle. Mrs. Lovett made the answer for him.

"Bring 'er 'ere love."

Anthony turned to Mrs. Lovett with a thankful smile. "Thanks mum." Then he turned to Todd for conformation. "Mr. Todd?"

With lack of a better response, Todd nodded his head stiffly. Anthony's eyes lit up and he grasped Todd's hand and shook it energetically.

"Thank you my friend, thank you."

Todd remained impassive even as Anthony leapt out of the chair and departed the shop joyously. Sweeney Todd couldn't stop thinking about Johanna, even as Mrs. Lovett's voice reached him.

"Looks like the fates are smilin' at you at last, Mr. T." She said with a concealing smile.

Todd thought about what she'd look like. When he was arrested she'd been just over a year old. Sixteen years old she'd be now. He wondered if she had yellow hair like Lucy. He strode to the corner of the room, picking up the sharpening strip he'd thrown earlier. His expression was downcast.

"What…? What are you so mopey about?" Mrs. Lovett asked as Todd reattached the strap. "You're gonna see your daughter again, ain't you?"

Todd shrugged. "What about him?"

"Oh him." Mrs. Lovett knew to whom he was referring. "Well, let 'im bring her here. And since you're so up for a little…choppin', well, that's the throat to slit my dear."

Todd thought Mrs. Lovett said something else, but his senses had closed off when out the window he saw Signor Pirelli head for the shop. Mrs. Lovett appeared at his side.

"Eh now, what's 'e doin' here?"

Todd glanced at her. "Keep the boy downstairs."

Mrs. Lovett obeyed with a curt nod and disappeared. Sweeney Todd didn't know the meaning of the Signor's intrusion, but he could only guess he'd returned for his money now that there was no crowd. Well, he'd be in for a surprise if he thought he could intimidate Sweeney Todd.


	10. X

**-X-**

Toby followed behind Signor Pirelli, limping a little due to the bruise above his knee. The marks on his face weren't too noticeable, for which he was glad. He abhorred walking down the street and having elderly ladies give him sympathetic expressions at his horrid situation. Toby didn't like pity. He wasn't exactly sure why they were coming to Sweeney Todd's barber shop, but the Signor seemed rather adamant about it. And since the Signor was early for his appointment to be fitted for another suit, Toby didn't see the stop by so suspicious. However, Toby was well aware the Signor didn't have the money for a shave. Just as they approached, the same woman from the crowd stepped down the stairs. Signor Pirelli bowed graciously.

"Ah, Signora, it Mr. Todd at home?"

The woman stopped as she reached the final step. "He is. You're welcome to go right on upstairs." The woman then gazed down at Toby and her expression softened. "Oh. Look at that now. Wouldn't mind if I gave it a nice juicy bit a pie would'ja?"

Toby bristled, but found himself excited at the prospect of a meat pie.

"Si, si, whatever you want." Signor Pirelli sounded almost distracted.

"Come on in lad." The woman said. "Let's see wot we got for you."

Toby followed her, sparing a glance as he watched Signor Pirelli stride up the steps. He went inside and shut the door behind him. The woman strode to the dirty counter and placed a pie on a plate. For a moment he simply stood there, gazing hungrily at the pie. She glanced toward him.

"What you standin' around for? Sit down, make yourself comfy."

Toby almost jumped as he rushed to the table and sat down. Remembering good manners he took off his hat, feeling the cheap strands of his wig tickle his ears. Any time he was required to accompany Signor Pirelli he had to wear that horrid thing so as not to arouse suspicion at their phony elixir. Toby didn't really see the point now. The woman brought the plate and presented it in front of him.

"There ye are, tuck in."

Toby followed the order without hesitation. The first few bites he noticed that the pie was about as tasty as a paper box, but he continued munching away. He hadn't eaten for a while and he'd scarf down anything that would fill his stomach. The woman sat down beside him, watching him devour the pie with a smile.

"Like to see a man with a healthy appetite. Reminds me of my dear Albert. Old coot liked to gorge himself to bloatation he did." She shrugged. "Didn't have your nice head a hair though."

Toby shook his head.

"To tell you the truth, it get's awful 'ot." With that he pulled off the wig and laid it on the table.

The lady sitting before him seemed somewhat interested in glancing upward, as though she were expecting something to fall down on her. Toby didn't bother thinking about it. He just hoped he'd get another pie.

_____________________

Sweeney Todd brushed off the dust on the chair, hearing a firm tap on the door. He didn't have to look up to see who stood there. Signor Pirelli entered the room with an air of confidence. He inclined his head.

"Mr. Todd." He greeted in his garbled Italian accent.

Todd dropped his chin in acknowledgement. "Signor."

Pirelli's expression changed from one of conceit to one of familiarity. "Call me Davey."

Todd raised a questioning brow as Pirelli's accent abruptly switched from Italian to cockney English.

"Davey Collin's the name when it's not professional." Pirelli strode toward a truck stored in the corner of the room and gently laid his cape and cane on it. "I'd like my five quid back, if you don't mind."

Todd remained unmoved from his spot behind the barber's chair.

"Why?"

"Because, you entered our little wager under false pretenses, my friend." Pirelli began go develop a manner of smug triumph. "I advise you to be a bit more forthright in the future. I'll be taken half your profits from herewith, share and share alike." Pirelli turned to face him, a nasty smile on his face. "Mr. Benjamin Barker."

Sweeney Todd felt an instant serge of bewilderment. This was the third person he'd come across who knew his name, but this…Collins…was more of a danger. Especially since Todd recognized him from someplace, he just couldn't think of where. Since this man was so smug in his manner, and since he wanted half of Todd's profits, he was doubtlessly out to blackmail him. Todd turned around and let his gaze settle out the window as Pirelli strode confidently through the room.

"Yeah, this'll do nicely." Todd felt Pirelli look at him, but he didn't react. Pirelli snickered. "You don't remember me, and why should you? I was just a little nip that you hired for a couple of weeks to sweep up hair." Pirelli reached for one of Todd's razors. "Bu' I remember these. And 'ow could I forget you Mr. Barker?"

A zap of realization passed through Todd without causing his features to change in the slightest. Davey Collins. The boy he'd hired more than sixteen years ago in the very shop they stood in. He'd had red hair then, strengthening Todd's suspicion that the fancy black hair Pirelli wore was a wig. Pirelli sauntered into Sweeney Todd's line of sight, taking a seat on a stool next to the wall.

"I used to sit right here. Dream'n of the day when I could be a proper barber myself." Pirelli flipped the razor open, and admired it momentarily before continuing. "I suppose you could say you was…inspiration to me."

Todd felt a gut-wrenching feeling in the very pit of his stomach. He rotated stiffly, and stepped absently toward the other part of the room. He stopped, feeling a sense of strange betrayal that he couldn't place. His memories had been jumbled with such visions of horror that Todd couldn't rightly derive which was which anymore. His eyes remained blank even as Pirelli got to his feet and approached him from behind, his arrogance searing the air.

"So's we got a deal?" Pirelli was at his shoulder now, and his voice was a mere whisper in his ear. "Or should I run down the street to me old pal, Beadle Bamford?"

Todd blinked, and his breathing became slightly erratic as a strange panic shot through him. Pirelli was highly amused at taking advantage of his former employer.

"What to you say to that now…?" He began to laugh as his accent reverted back to the fake Italian lilt. "Mr. Sweeney Todd?"

It was the laugh that shoved Todd over the edge. As the water boiled and a loud whistle trilled through the air, all other thoughts abandoned Todd's mind. He grasped the pot and spun about, slamming the metal against Pirelli's face without restraint. The latter staggered backward as Todd brought the pot back to hit him again. Blood splattered from Pirelli's mouth as he fell backward, landing hard on the floor. Todd was in a state of demented hysteria as he slammed the pot into Pirelli's skull over and over again. Feral snarls danced off Todd's lips as he reversed his grip, ignoring the searing metal on against his bare hands. Blood flecked up from Pirelli's immobile head as Todd continued to swing. Finally, he stopped, breathing heavily.

He watched the blood pool across the floor as he shakily got to his feet. The pot dropped from his hands and clattered to the floor. Todd watched the room slowly began to close in as white dots prickled the corners of his eyes. He reached for the barber's chair and almost unconsciously sagged into it. He inhaled shakily, attempting to calm his racing heart. He'd killed others before, but somehow this particular murder felt different. He'd known this man, and at one point he had cared for him. Many years ago that boy had offered him a thankful handshake before departing; now his body lay brutishly beaten on the floor. Sweeney Todd sighed. He supposed he would eventually learn to kill without bothersome human emotion getting in his way. He would have to.


	11. XI

**-XI-**

Johanna had attempted to open her door many times, frustration brewing within her despite the knowledge that the door would remain locked no matter how many times she tried it. When Clara's angry calls faded away Johanna had collapsed on her bed in a furious upset. Her anger pounded through her veins like physical blows hammering against her skin, and her fists were tight in white-knuckled balls. Empty shame consumed her spirit, and she began to weep uncontrollably. She had known over the years that her Nana had been harboring secret hatreds for her guardian; Johanna had just been too cowardly to ask why. Now Clara was gone, and after what she'd said it was doubtless the Judge would allow her to return.

An hour had passed since the horrible confrontation, and since then Johanna had not moved from the bed. However, she did manage to bring herself into a sitting position. She felt disgrace wash through her like a toxin. Despite how much she abhorred the Judge and his dominative possession of her, she knew she was much too frightened to confront him as Clara had done. She could not stand up and tell him what she truly thought of him. Even considering the notion shot shivers up and down her spine. Johanna fought to control her despair by sketching across a scrap of parchment. She had been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she hadn't even determined what she'd drawn until the shape had completely taken form. She felt a hesitant smile creep across her lips as the identity became clear. She'd drawn the nameless boy's face. Not every detail was exact, of course, but Johanna never believed herself to be a talented artist. All of a sudden, a knock sounded at the door.

Johanna quickly stored the picture underneath her pillow before smoothing out her dress. She acknowledged the knocker, hoping beyond words that it was her Nana who walked through the door. Of course, it was not. Judge Turpin was doing his very best to look calm and accommodating, but Johanna saw through the façade instantly. This man wanted something. He stepped toward her, his grisly features looking positive unnatural while he attempted a kind smile.

"Johanna, my dear. I am so sorry you had to witness such an outrageous spectacle. It has not left you out of spirits, I trust?"

Johanna bit her lip, telling herself to demonstrate some sign of anger. Instead, she kept calm. "May I ask, sir, where Miss Clara has gone?"

Judge Turpin showed the slightest flicker of a frown, but it soon disappeared.

"Not to worry, my little flower. No harm has come to her. I have just come to the conclusion that you are not in the need of a governess any longer. I suppose I have just been reluctant to accept you've grown into a woman." The Judge's eyes flecked down and then back up, causing a sickening feeling to sink into Johanna's stomach. "I have realized you are such an innocent child that must be protected from the dangerous of the world. Therefore, I have decided to demonstrate my affections to the optimal level."

To Johanna's utter horror, the Judge lowered himself before her and grasped her hand. He hadn't removed his gloves, and his touch felt horridly artificial. Johanna felt her pulse quicken, as though something dreadful was coming toward her but she was too petrified to turn about and run away. The Judge stroked the back of her hand.

"Johanna, I have sheltered you from the world, I have raised you like my own daughter, provided for you, and cared for you when your own father would have left you in the street to starve. Over these years I had formed a deep attraction to you, which has since developed into a more intimate passion."

Johanna felt her breath still in her lungs, as though the oxygen was purposely stifling her. She squirmed in horror. However, the Judge hadn't finished his inevitable statement.

"To protect your virtue, I have decided I shall make you my wife."

There was not much after that declaration Johanna remembered. Her head was swirling with dazed confusion as the Judge explained he was due for court, and he would speak to her about the arrangements later. Johanna remained stupidly silent, struck dumb by the unbelievable demand. _She_ marry him? He was at least fifty years older than she, and he'd always been a man she feared beyond words but was forced to look to as a father. The thought of marrying him was worse than undesirable. It was…revolting. It disgusted her to the very core of her being. She remained still and silent as a statue as the Judge took his leave. After the door closed following his departure, Johanna rose to her feet, her eyes wide in fearful confusion.

In wild desperation, she threw open her window in search for the boy who'd been hiding beneath her pane. At first, there was nothing but bright daylight that seemed to scorch her eyes. Tears blinded her as she subconsciously watched Judge Turpin's coach clatter away. As Johanna stared out into the street, wondering how she would escape this dreadful engagement, she jumped at a sight that appeared before her. Seemingly out of nowhere, a familiar face popped up from beneath her window. It took Johanna a moment to realize that this was the same boy she'd seen on the street. She was too shocked to speak at first, and the boy had obviously expected this. He tipped his head apologetically.

"I'm sorry for startling you, miss. I know this may seem…rather awkward, but I don't know how much time I will have and I must clear something up right away." He revealed the key from his jacket pocked. "When you dropped this, I took it as a sign that you wanted to escape. Forgive me if I seem presumptuous. I just-"

Johanna knew she was being far too forward, but at that desperate moment she could care less. She took a strong step forward, her eyes imploring.

"Sir, you have interpreted my meaning without fault. I do wish to escape this place, as quickly as I possibly can."

The young man seemed delighted by this, and exhaled a breath of relief. "That is glad news indeed, Miss Johanna."

Then it hit Johanna that she didn't even know the lad's name. "I am sorry to ask, but I'm afraid I've not heard your name yet." Johanna said softly.

The man appeared instantly embarrassed and bowed his head furiously. "Of course, how stupid of me to forget. My name is Anthony. Anthony Hope. I'm a sailor with the _Bountiful_."

Johanna sighed unintentionally. A sailor. Then he was a world traveler, no doubt. She could not imagine a more exciting life than that of a sailor, and she became hopeful that she might be able to accompany him on his journeys. She also noticed he appeared much handsomer close up. As she looked into his eyes, she found herself momentarily lost in their depths as he detailed his plan of escape.

"If you agree, Johanna, it would be best for you to escape as quickly as possible. The Judge does not fancy having me hanging about, and if he sees me here again he'll probably call a constable. Can you ready your things by tonight?"

Johanna did not wish to appear too eager, but she would have escaped that minute if it were possible. She nodded her head. "I'll be ready Anthony."

Anthony's eyes lit up happily, and when he gently touched her hair with his hand Johanna was far too entranced to recoil. The warmth in his smile intensified.

"Your hair is so beautiful."

Johanna was so rapt in excitement to question the odd statement. The two remained there for a long moment before Johanna finally broke the spell.

"You must go. I cannot be certain when the Judge will return. You cannot risk being caught."

Anthony nodded reluctantly. As he started to climb out the window he glanced up at her for a final time.

"I'll be waiting for you tonight." He said.

Johanna clutched her dress, smiling sheepishly. "Alright."

With that final exchange, Anthony disappeared from sight. Johanna strode across the room as though she were riding on a soft cloud. She sat down on her bed while tears of happiness sparkled against her cheeks. She was finally going to escape from this place forever. Johanna had never been so eager for the sun to disappear.


	12. XII

**-XII-**

Toby thought he heard a distinct thumping echo through the shop. He glanced up, as if the source of the noise would present itself directly. He caught a flicker of nervousness in the pie lady's countenance, but it disappeared so quickly Toby thought he'd imagined it. She began to mess about, roughly smashing down pans and sweeping the dust from the counter.

"Gracious, so much to do and naught enough hours in a day." She blew out a noisy breath and laid the back of her hand against her cheek. "So, lad. 'Ow'd you end up with that dreadful Italian?"

Toby didn't like thinking back to the days before he was under the Signor's employment. Anything was better than the horrid place he used to live. Toby shifted, slightly uncomfortable, but he thought the woman had a kind face.

"'E got me from the workhouse. Been there since I was born."

There she went again, taking a suspicious upward glance. Toby shrugged and took another bite of his pie. Suddenly, an important flash of urgency gripped him. He leapt up from the table with his mouth still full.

"Oh I forgot. Signor Pirelli's got an appointment with 'is tailor. If he's late he'll blame me."

And there'd be a whipping for it, he was sure. He threw open the door and rushed up the stairs as quickly as his legs could carry him. Without bothering to knock Toby burst into Mr. Todd's barber shop.

"Signor, you've…?"

Toby's voice faded to silence as he took a rapid glance about the room. No one was there except Mr. Todd, who was presently pouring himself a cup of steaming tea. The Signor was nowhere to be seen. Mr. Todd lowered the pot and spoke without even glancing Toby's way.

"Signor Pirelli's been called away." The unfeelingly coarse tone to the man's voice caused Toby to flinch. "Better run after him."

Toby felt a hint of unexplainable nervousness tingle through him. Where would the Signor have gone? He'd never leave without Toby, mostly because he was very possessive of what he believed to be his property. Much like a broom or a coat. Therefore, Toby could not understand why he'd departed so suddenly, and he hadn't even noticed anyone passing the window while he ate his pie. Despite Toby's uncertainty he knew he should stay until the Signor returned. That was the only logical step to take.

"I think I should stay here sir. If 'e comes back and I ain't here it'll be a lashing. The Signor's a great one for the lashings."

Now Mr. Todd did turn toward him, slowly, and glanced at him with an unreadable snarl. Toby took a step back and felt his legs touch a trunk. He took a seat there in preparation to wait. Mr. Todd folded his hands in front of him.

"So. Mrs. Lovett gave you a pie, did she?"

Toby hadn't even thought to ask the nice woman her name, and now that he knew it, it made the acquaintance all the friendlier. He smiled.

"She's a real lady!"

Mr. Todd nodded curtly. "That she is."

Toby furrowed his brow as Mr. Todd seemed to look beyond the boy at something else entirely. However, he quickly sobered and focused his attention on Toby once again.

"But, if I know a growing boy, there's still room for more pie, eh?"

As Mr. Todd came closer, Toby was feeling slightly anxious. Despite the fact that the man was a respected barber, there was something strangely unsettling about him that rattled through Toby with a spooky feeling. Mr. Todd grasped him by the shoulder and began to guide him to the door. Toby knew he needed to remain where the Signor could easily find him.

"Yes sir, but I really ought to stay here."

There was a quick flash of frustration in Mr. Todd's cold black eyes, but soon enough the emotion disappeared and he was all calm patience once more. He offered a careful smile.

"Tell you what. Go on downstairs, and tell Mrs. Lovett that I said to give you a nice, big tot a gin."

All fear of a whipping from his master disappeared at the thought of a sip of gin. Toby hadn't had much of it, but he sure loved the stuff.

"Thank you sir!"

Toby turned on his heel and sprinted through the door and down the steps. When he came back into the kitchen Mrs. Lovett was wearing a frazzled expression.

"See Mr. Todd up there, love?" Mrs. Lovett asked quickly.

Toby nodded vigorously. "Told me if I came back down I could have a spot of gin."

Mrs. Lovett pursed her lips in surprise, but then soon after that she looked awfully relived.

"He did, did he? Well then, better go and see wot I got for you."

Toby sat back down at the table and began to twiddle his thumbs restlessly. Although he was puzzled as to why the Signor had gone away without alerting him, he couldn't say he was worried. The Signor had specifically said he could go into the shop, and so Toby was committed to staying there until his master returned.


	13. XIII

**-XIII-**

Sweeney Todd watched the boy descend down the stairs, and then his gaze slowly fixed itself upon the trunk. A bloody hand was twitching beneath the lid. Todd felt a veil of ice smother him as he abolished what little emotion he retained, and stepped toward the chest. The lid made a grating squeak as Todd lifted it. Signor Pirelli had begun to regain consciousness, and although his face was a mask of crimson blood he still managed to struggle partway out of the chest. Todd stepped in behind him, slowly opening the razor in his hand.

Sweeney Todd could not feel anything. His hands were cold, as if his own blood refused to trespass there. He reached a hand out and forced the Signor's trembling head upward. Dread began to wash through him, but he ignored the sensation, letting it wash the last traces of humanity away. He reached across Pirelli's neck, and then slid the blade through the thin flesh with a slow sweep. Blood gushed from Pirelli's throat as the man gurgled in subconscious incomprehension. His body began to convulse as the blood squirted in relentless streams of ruby, but Todd held the shaking man in place. The pumping began to slow as Signor Pirelli, or Davey Collins, died, becoming only a flow of red against his throat.

Slowly, Sweeney Todd eased the man back into the concealment of the chest and snapped the lid closed. He didn't think much about the life he'd taken, focusing all attention on cleaning the splatters of red from his silver blade. When the razor was immaculate once more, he held it toward the window, catching a gleam of sunlight on the silver. Todd didn't flinch when the shop door creaked open. He doubted he'd ever demonstrate any little amount of human emotion again. Such trifles were only distracting. Mrs. Lovett rubbed the back of her neck wearily.

"Oh dear me that lad is drinking me out of house in home." She clicked her tongue balefully. "So 'ow long till Pirelli gets back?"

Todd's gaze remained fixed on the blade of his razor, eyes lazy. "He won't be back."

Mrs. Lovett's jaw fell open, and her voice was nothing but a shocked gasp. "Mr. T you didn't…?"

Todd offered the barest glance at the trunk and shrugged. Cautiously, Mrs. Lovett strode toward the trunk and slowly lifted the lid. When she caught a glimpse of what lay inside she gasped and slammed the trunk shut.

"You're barkin' mad!" She breathed in astonishment. "Killin' a man wot done you no harm?"

Todd was still occupied with the task of blowing the dust off the blade of his razor. However, he explained to Mrs. Lovett as to why the killing had been necessary.

"Recognized me from the old days. Tried to blackmail me. Wanted half my earnings."

Todd wasn't interested in how Mrs. Lovett would react to the situation, but truthfully it was quite unlike what he'd predicted. She simply placed her hands on her hips in relief.

"Oh well, that's a different matter then. For a minute there I'd thought you'd lost your marbles."

Sweeney Todd stepped toward the window as Mrs. Lovett opened the trunk with a new confidence. She _tsked _regretfully as she gazed at the crumpled body.

"Look at all that blood. Hmm…poor bugger."

Todd spared an empty glance at Mrs. Lovett, who had taken it upon herself to abduct the man's purse. She jingled the velvet bag in her hand before tucking it away.

"Well, waste not, want not." Mrs. Lovett closed the lid again. "So…what's to be done about the boy, then?"

There was a wicked shine to the blade that told Todd his friend was still parched. Todd gazed at the blade.

"Send him up."

Mrs. Lovett turned to him, only the barest flicker of shock in her expression. She strode toward him and her voice took on a low tone of reasoning.

"Now Mr. T, surely one's enough for today. He's just a simple thing after all, and I've been meanin' to hire a lad to help me run the shop. Me poor bones ain't what they used to be, you know."

It didn't matter one way or the other. Killing the boy or keeping him alive did not ease the revenge Todd desperately sought. He was after the Judge. Sweeney Todd walked to the window and for the first time since Pirelli's death he took his eyes from the blade. In the back of his mind he could hear Mrs. Lovett's voice.

"Course that means we ought to stock up on the gin. That boy drinks like a sailor."

Sweeney Todd looked out the window, and his breath stilled in his lungs. Just below him, the Beadle appeared guiding along another man whose identity was unmistakable. Todd had not seen him in fifteen years, and yet the face of the man who had murdered his wife had been burned into his memory. Nothing save utter rage filled him.

"The Judge." The words were but a whisper in the air.

The hatred eventually allowed anticipation to pass through, and Todd faced Mrs. Lovett with an inhuman gleam in his eyes. She was obviously surprised by it. Todd glared at her.

"Get out."

She remained where she was, and her expression didn't appear surprised any longer. She appeared…allured. Todd's gaze flicked toward the window and then back to the woman in his shop.

"Out!" He barked the order angrily, and she complied.

When Mrs. Lovett took her leave and closed the door behind her, Todd felt himself shiver with excitement. He laid his razor beside the others and fought to keep a hold on his patience. He would follow Mrs. Lovett's advice. The Judge was only one man; Todd would have to take his time to enjoy it.

_____________________

Clara had remained directly out of sight from the exchange going on below Johanna's window. It looked to be the same lad she'd spied out the window earlier, but she was unable to tell for sure. As the young man slipped down the wall and snuck away, Clara couldn't help but follow him. If he was considering rescuing Johanna from her horrid captivity, than Clara wanted to know what kind of man he was. At this point, she believed anyone would be better than the despicable Judge Turpin. Clara rushed after the young man, and only when he reached the alleyway did she call out. He turned; his wide eyes even wider with instant shock.

"Who are you?"

Clara flipped a hand dismissively as she strode up to him. "Before we go into that I'd like to ask if you plan to help Johanna escape."

The boy's jaw dropped, and he stumbled for words. Clara assisted him.

"Not to worry lad, I'm the girl's governess. Well, former governess, I'm afraid. My name is Clara Cartwright, and may I ask yours?"

"Uh…Anthony Hope ma'am, at your service."

Clara was unable to hide a small grin. Hope. Now that was an ironic circumstance. However, Clara thought she was being too vague for poor young Anthony.

"If I may ask, sir, are you indeed planning to assist Johanna in escaping her ward?"

Anthony nodded strongly and without falter. "Yes ma'am. But I hope I don't offend you if I don't go into the particulars. I don't know you, you see."

Clara nodded, completely understandable. "Very well, Anthony, I'll not pry. However, I would very much like to see Johanna once more before she departs."

Anthony was a very charming boy, and Clara felt a warm feeling of relief embrace her. He was a fine prospect for a sailor, for by his attire Clara could not guess him as anything but. Anthony bowed to her.

"When I take her from this place I've been permitted to hide her in the establishment of a good friend of mine. A barber shop located in Fleet Street."

Clara gaped. "Not Mr. Benjamin Barker?"

Anthony blinked, and shook his head. "No ma'am. His name is Sweeney Todd, and he is one of the most agreeable gentlemen I have ever come across."

Clara's expression was excessively blank for a moment, but she quickly shook it off. She smiled and nodded appreciatively, deciding she would figure out the confusing business herself. She touched Anthony lightly on the arm, and produced as much genuine thankfulness into her tone as she could manage, which was considerable.

"Thank you so very much for what you are doing."

Anthony nodded with the smile of a man lost in the chaotic verticals of love. Clara grinned as the boy rushed off down the alley. Johanna had certainly gotten that boy smitten over her, whether she planned it or not. Yet Clara knew Johanna's delightful obliviousness to certain situations did not allow her to make such premeditated advances. They were just two young people, a boy and girl in love. Now, she couldn't help but wonder on the subject of Mr. Barker. Sweeney Todd…is that what he called himself? The entire situation was utterly disturbing, but she decided that instead of progressing directly to the barber shop, she would wait at the Judge's manor. Although she was not nearly brave enough to attempt what the boy planned, she still felt obliged to watch over her charge. As she sat and watched the crowd mill about the streets, she felt another wave of unheeded despair enter her. Over the years she had dreamt of taking Johanna away. She had desperately wanted to let the girl roam free, following every path that interested her. Instead, she'd been locked away, and Clara had not done a thing to help.

Clara sighed. It was all going to change now, and for the better. Clara did not mind if Johanna's salvation meant she'd never see her again. She deserved it herself, for not helping the only person she ever cared about. Clara wrapped her arms about her and waited patiently for the night to fall.


	14. XIV

**-XIV-**

Sweeney Todd was beside himself. He could not decide where to go or what to do, so strong was his anticipation. His right hand shook unmercifully as he rushed to the bureau making sure everything was prepared for the Judge's arrival. It was then he caught a glimpse of the cherry red stain on his white sleeve. He touched the mark, and quickly scrambled for something to conceal it. He speedily slipped into his coat as the sound of the shop door eased open, and then shut behind the guest. Todd turned abruptly, and exhaled slowly when he saw the Judge standing before him. Turpin offered him only the vaguest of silent consideration.

"Mr. Todd." He greeted.

Todd swallowed back his impatience and offered a very curt bow. "At your service. What an honor, to receive your patronage milord."

The Judge raised a curious brow. "Have we been introduced once before, sir?"

Todd didn't panic at the question. He smiled graciously. "No my lord, I am afraid we have not. You could say I know you by reputation. There are not many, around this street at least, who don't know of the great…Judge Turpin."

The final words were difficult, Todd had to admit, but the Judge was so enrapt in his own conceit that he accepted Todd's words without another hesitation. He then proceeded to take a turn about the shop, lifting his chin slightly as though he was sampling something foul. Todd stood completely still, still focusing on keeping his inhalations steady. Turpin ran a finger across the dusty windowpane with a distained expression.

"These premises are hardly prepossessing, however the Beadle assured me you are the most accomplished of all the barbers in the city."

Todd growled quietly, and then forced a grin to his ridged lips. "That was gracious of him sir. Now, if I may, what can I do for you? A stylish trimming of the hair perhaps, or a soothing skin massage?"

Sweeney reached out and eased off the Judge's coat. The Judge started in apparent surprise at Todd's forwardness, but he didn't remark on it. He turned and faced the barber with a mask of pretentious dismay. He laid a hand on Todd's shoulder, and it took every ounce of the latter's power to remain unmoved.

"I must reveal something to you Barber. You see, I come here for a purpose. I am a man infatuated with love, and I desire the most rejuvenating of treatments to make myself presentable -or perhaps…seductive is a proper word- to her. However, what I desire first and foremost is a shave."

Turpin then proceeded to rub the back of his hand along the lengthening stubble across his cheek. Todd offered the barest of smiles.

"I assure you, milord, it shall be the closest I have ever given before. Sit sir, sit."

Judge Turpin slowly leaned himself back into the chair, loosening his collar in preparation for his shave. At first, Sweeney Todd had been somewhat nervous that the Judge would recognize him. After all, Davey Collins had, and was killed and folded into a chest because of it. However, Todd couldn't say he was completely surprised by the man's obliviousness. Who could remember an insect crushed under their boot?

"It is a quite incredible phenomenon." The Judge spoke idly.

Todd draped a smock over the Judge, tucking it just under his chin. "What is that, sir, if I might inquire?"

"Women." Turpin clarified as he crossed his legs at the ankles. "They are such intoxicating creatures, wouldn't you agree?"

"Correct you are sir." Todd felt his jaw trembling with a spurt of anger. "Pretty women are a wonder."

Todd mixed the lather and quickly dabbed it on the Judge's face, covering it completely. When he'd finished, he reached his razor with a surprisingly steady hand. He gazed at the blade in his grasp.

_Slowly…patience…revenge can't be taken in haste._

Todd could hardly contain himself as he leaned forward.

"Make haste Barber, and if we wed you will be commended for your work."

Todd paused for a moment, and clenched his jaw tightly. "And who, might it be said, is your intended, sir?"

An infuriating smile dusted the lips of his enemy. "My ward, and as pretty as a rosebud."

"Pretty as her mother?" The words had escaped unbidden, and Todd immediately clamped his mouth closed.

Turpin glanced at him with a confused expression. "What was that?"

Todd cleared his throat. "Nothing sir, nothing. May we proceed?"

Todd reached forward, and as the blade touched the man's throat an eruption of anticipation exploded through Todd's veins. However, he remembered Mrs. Lovett's advice. He would enjoy this.

"She is a beautiful woman Mr. Todd, however she has the disposition of a child."

Todd's hand trembled as he scraped the blade across the Judge's skin. He would need to change the subject to something other than his daughter or his patience wouldn't last.

"Oftentimes they do sir. Something in them is so detestably innocent it cannot be explained."

"Fascinating creatures they are, I agree with you sir. Do you find that even if they vanish they can somehow remain with you, forever?"

Todd angled his eyes and the corner of his mouth lifted in contempt. "Truly sir. If I may venture, you appear quite practiced in this field, may I ask if there were any other particular women in your past adorations?"

Sweeney Todd gripped the razor tightly as he held the blade across the Judge's neck. He bared his teeth in animal anticipation as his arm trembled. However, before he killed him, Todd only wanted one thing. He wanted Turpin to admit to what he'd done. It would make the moment that much more satisfying, and the Judge seemed perfectly willing to accommodate. A twisted smile wrenched his features into an ugly kind of scowl.

"Ah yes. One such other will always be singed in my memory. A golden goddess, beautiful in every way that could possibly be imagined."

Todd leaned forward as he felt his heart pound like a drum. His arm tensed as he readied himself for the swipe that would end the detestable man's life forever. Todd's voice was a growl in Turpin's ear.

"And her name?"

Turpin seemed to consider for a moment, as though he'd forgotten. "Her name…hmm….?"

Sweeney Todd experienced a burst of morbid excitement, and decided he didn't want the name of his virtuous wife escaping the fornicator's lips. However, before Sweeney Todd could complete the deed the shop door flew open. Todd's head snapped to the left, and his jaw fell. It was Anthony, smiling with joy at the news he was committed on delivering.

"Mr. Todd! I've seen Johanna and she said she'd come away with me…" When Anthony finally sobered enough to see who Todd was serving his voice faded.

Turpin was enraged, and Todd could only stand there in dumb shock as the Judge got to his feet with the lather still spread across his jaw.

"You? Do you honestly think my Johanna would ever elope with a repugnant little wretch like you when she could have all the comforts in the world? However, your declaration has sparked a consideration in my mind. I will be sure never to let you, or any man, ever set eyes on her again."

Turpin's voice was nothing but an assortment of angry snarls and guttural growls. He grasped his coat and turned to Sweeney Todd with a look of utter rage.

"And as for you, barber," Turpin hissed at the motionless man. "It is all too clear to see what breed of company you keep, appreciate what patronage you have sir, you shall not have mine."

With those final words Turpin marched to the door and exited in a manner befitting a man in such a temper. Todd, conversely, was standing as still as a statue, his gaze dropped to the floor throughout the entire exchange. Anthony was stunned, but he recovered quicker so as to speak.

"The Judge… Johanna." Anthony turned his attention to Todd. "Mr. Todd, you have to help me, please."

Todd felt utterly empty.

"Out." Todd's voice was soft.

Anthony continued to implore his assistance. "What will he do to her? Mr. Todd, please?"

Todd's next insistent demand was louder, but Anthony was not swayed.

"Mr. Todd…"

"OUT!"

Sweeney Todd's rage erupted through the anger in his voice. To reinforce the order he took three strong steps toward his resolute guest. Anthony jumped back in surprise, and followed a well heeded instinct to rush through the door and outside. Now Todd was alone, and he was still unable to believe what had just taken place. The Judge was gone. He was gone. Mrs. Lovett opened the door quickly and focused a confused expression on the man inside.

"All this shout'n and runnin' about. What's happened?"

Todd's voice was pathetically small as he attempted to convince himself of what happened.

"I had him."

Mrs. Lovett appeared not to hear the confession, and motioned toward the door with a sweeping gesture. "The sailor came I know, then I saw them both running down the stairs."

Todd was beginning to understand the severity of the opportunity he'd let slip through his fingers.

"I had him! I had his throat bare beneath my hand…right…"

Mrs. Lovett stepped warily closer. "There, there dear, calm down now."

"He'll never come again." Todd's voice was low and demonic. He spun toward Mrs. Lovett. "Do you hear me? His throat was exposed directly beneath me and…and now he'll never come again!"

Sweeney Todd's rage boiled past his level of control, and he didn't even attempt to restrain it. He grasped Mrs. Lovett by the throat and forced her into the wall. She gasped as she struck the wood, and gazed at him with less fear than he'd imagined. He locked his hand about her neck.

"You told me to wait. Why did I listen to you?"

Mrs. Lovett attempted vainly to wriggle out of his grip, but she settled on speaking to him warmly.

"Hush now darlin', you're beside yourself. There's still plenty of time to slit him, what's your rush?"

Todd stared at Mrs. Lovett for a moment more, and then he released her. As she inhaled rapidly to catch her stolen breath Sweeney Todd marched toward the window. His mind was wandering once again, and he felt himself enshrouded in darkness. He saw Turpin's wicked smile as he condemned Benjamin Barker to prison. He could see all the people watching his wife die and not doing a thing to help her.

"There's a hole in the world like a great black pit, and it's filled with people who are filled with shit, and the vermin of the world inhabit it…" Todd slammed his fist against the window. A terrible grin lifted a corner of his mouth. "…but not for long."

From beneath his window a steady movement of people flowed up and down Fleet Street. Todd growled. His hatred was not solely placed on the Judge any longer, his rage had transcended into a resolute dedication. There was no measure of justice in society. Wicked men remain free to do whatever they wished, while the vermin under their boots had to scrounge for everything they had. However, these low creatures were just as much to blame. The wicked should be disposed of, and if those deaths were not sanctioned by God, Sweeney Todd supposed the duty fell to him. He felt his razor in his hand, and he caressed the silver handle with a thumb. It was up to him now.

"They all deserve to die." Todd's voice was hardly a whisper. "Every one of them, and they will. I will get my revenge, but before I confront the Judge I'll practice my technique on the throats of others. I'll cut a path through the city, and when I do have his throat beneath my hand again I will exact my vengeance."

"Mr. T…?"

Todd had forgotten about Mrs. Lovett, but his passion was ignited, and more life than he ever remembered possessing flowed through him. His eyes were alight with furious fire as he turned and grasped Mrs. Lovett tightly by the shoulder.

"We all deserve to die, Mrs. Lovett." With a hearty shove he forced her backward, and she collapsed into the barber's chair. He sauntered about the chair, remembering Turpin in the exact position. Almost unconsciously the blade leveled itself against Mrs. Lovett's bare neck. "Even you, Mrs. Lovett. And even I."

Mrs. Lovett didn't dare utter a word with the blade so close to her throat. For a moment, Todd let the idea of adding her to the list of victims dance through his head. That thought led to the pile up of more bodies, and deranged ecstasy was the result. However, as he saw the bodies soaked in blood he unwillingly thought of his poor daughter, still alive, and in the clutches of the Judge. The blade lowered from Mrs. Lovett's neck as he turned about with great deliberation. It was too late to save his daughter now. All he could do was be sure her guardian could never hurt her. All he could do was kill those who threatened her. Then a surprisingly logical thought came to mind amid the disarrayed madness. Who exactly was he avenging? His wife? Of course. His daughter? He'd believed so. Then why did he not travel to Turpin's manor and abduct his child himself?

Because his focus was lying on the Judge and no one else. Because his need for revenge was the only thing holding him together, and he would execute it. He looked at himself in the mirror, his expression appeared haunted and empty, without a trace of the former anticipation he'd felt so acutely.

"I can't save my daughter. Because of the Judge I'll never again hug my girl to me." Todd's voice didn't sound as though it belonged to him. "And my Lucy lies in ashes, and I'll never see her again."

"There's no need to dwell in it, Mr. T. It's over and done with. You got to put it behind you now."

"No." Mr. Todd turned away sharply, fueled by his new revelations. "I will never forget this. I will have my vengeance on this world. Not one man, nor a hundred will assuage me from my salvation. Those who enter here will be killed, and I will practice the skill of my blade on their throats. The Judge will return, I'll be sure he does."

The world seemed to spin unmercifully, but Todd did not notice. He was too involved in the enlightening visions of his epiphany. He held one razor high in the air, and smiled deviously when the sun caught the gleam.

"I'm alive at last." He growled, motivated by a new goal he was determined to complete.

He stood there for another moment, frozen in his stance, memorized by the shine of his blade. Suddenly, Mrs. Lovett stepped into his line of sight.

"That's all very well, Mr. Todd, but what are we gonna do about 'im?" Mrs. Lovett gestured lazily to the trunk in the corner of the room. "Or did you forget you stuffed a body in there not ten minutes ago?"

Todd's smile slowly disappeared, and his hand dropped to his side. Blankness had returned to his mind, and after he demonstrated more emotion than he had in ten years he felt thoroughly drained. Mrs. Lovett now stood directly in front of him, her pretty face looking up at him questioningly.

"You hear me, Mr. T.?"

Sweeney Todd didn't respond. He was considering what he was going to do with all the bodies he planned to accumulate. He couldn't think of anything that would successfully keep him out of the eye of lawful suspicion. Men could not simply disappear without a trace. Subconsciously, Todd heard Mrs. Lovett speak again.

"Come on now." She took him by the arm and led him toward the door. "Great useless thing." She heaved a sigh.

Todd could just barely make it down the stairs without catching his foot and tumbling the remainder of the way. His arm was draped over Mrs. Lovett's shoulders, and he had to admit she was a sturdy woman. She opened the shop door and sat him down at the empty table. Todd leaned forward on the wood, a calculative look shading his features. Mrs. Lovett strode about, on the search for something or someone. She disappeared into the living area for a moment and returned with a glass and a bottle of gin. She sat down adjacent to Todd and poured the clear liquid into Todd's glass.

"There you go Mr. T, drink that down."

Blankly, Todd reached for the glass and slid it closer. Mrs. Lovett propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands thoughtfully.

"Now, I know you're not wanting to hear this now, but we've got a dead bloke rottin' away up there. What you suppose we should do 'bout that then?"

Todd studied the gin in his hand, and decided on the most obvious course of action. "Later on, when it's dark, we'll take it to some secret place and bury it."

Mrs. Lovett looked strangely disappointed at this prospect.

"Oh yeah. Course we could do that. Don't suppose he's got any relatives gonna come pokin' around lookin' for him. At least, any who'll think to look for 'im here." There was a moment of silence, and then Mrs. Lovett spoke again. "Seems a shame, really."

Todd took a gulp of gin and felt the liquid send prickly sensations up and down his throat. He coughed once.

"Shame?"

"Well, he being such a thickset fellow and all, it just seems a shame to bury a frame like that."

Mrs. Lovett got to her feet and started walking toward the counter. "I mean, with the price of meat what it is, when you get it…even if you get it…"

The implication hit Todd with promising calculation. "Ah…"

Mrs. Lovett turned to face him, a bright smile on her face.

"What'cha think Mr. Todd? Mrs. Mooney's pies are selling as good as ever, and she fills 'er shells with nothin' but meat made a' pussycat. Now think of it. Pussies are only good for maybe six or seven pies give or take. I don't suppose they're any tastier."

A grin spread across Todd's face as he stood.

"What a practical notion, Mrs. Lovett."

Mrs. Lovett's excitement escalated. "Think about it. You'll have more gentlemen comin' up for a shave. And when they do…think of all those pies."

"These are desperate times, Mrs. Lovett." Todd uttered with a small grin. "And desperate measures are called for."

Sweeney Todd wandered toward the shop window and watched the people scurry about the street. He crossed his arms in triumph.

"What a marvel how the world begins to change at an encouragement of exchanged ideals. History tells us those above common filth are to be served by them. However, the positions seem to be reversed."

"Ah yes, Mr. T." Mrs. Lovett stood beside her neighbor. "How gratifying that this time, those above will serve those down below."

"We'll not discriminate. Great or small will be served in equal accordance."

"Good thinking, Mr. Todd."

Suddenly there was a rustling from the living quarters, and Todd's hand dropped to the nearby counter, his palm resting on the hilt of a cleaver. Mrs. Lovett spun in the direction of the noise, and then fluttered her hand dismissively.

"Calm down dear, it's just the boy."

The boy called Toby stumbled into the room, grasping on to the walls in a drunken stupor. He raised his arm to shield his eyes from the light.

"Mrs. Lovett…mum…I seem to 'ave misplaced the-"

"Don't you worry bout that darlin'." Mrs. Lovett rushed to Toby and laid her hands on his shoulders to steady him. "How'd you like to help me with the baking? Things are gonna change round here and we'd better tidy up."

Todd didn't know how much the boy heard, but by his semi-conscious movement he could deduct it was not much. Sweeney Todd lifted the cleaver, and admired the blade with a content deviousness.


	15. XV

**-XV-**

Johanna had just begun to realize just how much she had, and yet how much she didn't truly desire. Her closet was full of beautiful gowns and frocks, and she possessed the finest jewelry. The Judge was nothing if not doting on his ward. However, Johanna needed very little to sneak away with Anthony. A few simple dresses and a couple of her favorite books would be enough. She'd already had her bag packed before nightfall, and yet as she sat in impatience anticipation she'd thought of more things to add to the luggage. She was folding one last frock into her bag when she heard the door creak open. She stopped as her veins filled with ice, and then she slowly turned about. The Judge stood there, his brow furrowed in an expression of either rage or sorrow. Perhaps both. Johanna took a deep breath, attempting to slow her racing heart. The Judge glared at her.

"So it is true, then?" Judge Turpin's voice was low and harsh.

Johanna swallowed, and grasped at what courage she could conjure. "Sir, a gentleman knocks before entering a lady's room."

The Judge took one step forward, his expression unreadable now. "Indeed he does, but I see no lady."

Clutching her fists in fear, Johanna felt her knees begin to quaver. The Judge laid a hand on her dresser as though to support himself.

"I convinced myself the vermin was lying. I knew my Johanna would not do anything to hurt me so. However, it appears I have been mistaken."

Without warning, a surge of angry defiance sparked within Johanna, and she glowered at the Judge.

"You have confined me to this very chamber since I was twelve years old. During that time I've hardly taken a stroll outside, and when I did you would always be sure to accompany me. I could see the sun, but I could not reach it. I have lived too long in confinement and I will leave this place."

The Judge was silent for a moment, and a flicker of surprise and regret crossed his features. He nodded slowly.

"I think that only appropriate. Since you no longer find my company to your liking, I suppose we shall have to supply you with new lodgings."

Johanna's jaw dropped in horror as Judge Turpin nodded toward a figure lurking in the doorway, and the stout form of Beadle Bamford stepped into sight. The Judge took an abrupt step toward Johanna, and the latter jolted in fearful surprise. Her discomfort did not deter the Judge, and he reached out to lay a hand against Johanna's cheek.

"From this moment I have spared the rod. But the ungrateful child has broken my heart. When you learn to appreciate what you have, we may meet again, until then…" The Judge's face was so close to hers, Johanna could feel his breath. "Think on your sins."

Johanna was too terrified to move, and even more fear coursed through her when the Judge took his leave while the Beadle remained. The thick man grinned fiendishly, and stepped toward the fearful woman.

"Naughty, naughty girl."

Johanna's voice shook as she spoke. "Stay away from me."

The Beadle's laugh was a terrible sound, and Johanna cried out in panic as the Beadle grasped her tightly by the arm and threw her into the bed. Just as she landed she felt him on top of her. She pounded against him, but she hadn't the power to remove his massive bulk from crushing her body.

_____________________

The sun fell far more quickly than Clara had expected. Despite the cool air that danced through the darkness, Clara was relieved to find it pleasantly warm. At one point she had fallen asleep resting against the iron bars of a fence, and by doing so she had taken her eyes off the door of the manor. When she woke, she didn't know whether or not Turpin had returned. She felt apprehension grow within her as she wondered, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn't risk Anthony's plan by getting herself involved. Only once Johanna was out of the house and the two elopers were on their way to Mr. Barker's would Clara reveal herself.

As she watched Johanna's window, she felt her brow furrow in anxiety. She could feel something was wrong, in the very pit of her stomach, and yet she couldn't find any evidence to support the feeling. She clutched her skirt tightly, and watched with a bewildered expression a deathly black coach clamper against the cobblestones. The hearse-like carriage stopped directly before Judge Turpin's door.

Clara was on her feet now, blood pumping rabidly through her veins. The Judge's door was thrown open, and Clara made a muffled squeal when she saw what was taking place on the threshold. Johanna was being carted out over the arm of the Beadle, and she was crying out in fear. Clara was petrified with shock, and simply stood there dumbly as the coach pulled away. Anthony materialized out of the shadows, bellowing words of anger and horror at the Judge.

"Where are you taking her? Tell me! Or I swear I'll-"

The Judge matched the lad's fury. "You'd kill me boy? Here I stand!"

Anthony trembled, and Clara suspected there was nothing the boy would rather do. However, he was far more concerned with finding where Johanna was being taken. Clara snapped out of her shock and began to panic. Where would he send her? Had the Judge known about the plan? Clara didn't know. Before she knew it she was running, lifting her skirts and tearing across the street at a sprint. Her boots clapped against the wet street as she attempted to follow Anthony. However, when she turned the street corner all she had time to see was the coach disappearing into the distance.

Clara was feeding off adrenaline now, and continued to weave through the streets even though her lungs ached for a rest. She felt herself begin to slow, and cursed herself for not being of better use. The street was unnaturally silent as Clara leaned against a lamppost, heaving deep inhales to replenish her breath. She would have no hope of finding the carriage now. As thoughts began to whirl through her mind, she latched on the most logical of these, and decided to find her way back to Mr. Barker's barber shop. From what Anthony had said, Mr. Barker was gracious enough to assist in the hiding of Johanna, so perhaps he would know what to do. However, as Clara walked down the empty streets she thought of the void of black nothingness she'd spied in Mr. Barker's eyes. Was it possible he returned to Fleet Street with an unstable mind? Clara was ashamed to think it, but how could he not be? After all that happened to him Clara could not expect anything different. She put this thought to the back of her mind as she continued down the dimly lit avenues.


	16. XVI

**-XVI-**

Johanna's pulse was hammering so hard she was having difficulty breathing consistently. She had never felt more terrified in her entire life. When she'd been tossed into the coach she hadn't any idea where she was headed, but with a heavy heart she did hear Anthony calling her name. She tried to reply, but the Beadle stifled her screams and eventually she simply gave up trying.

Now, she found herself alone in the corner of a dark cell. She was not afraid of small spaces, nor was she a stranger to loneliness, but her fear at where she was threatened to tear her apart. She'd been deported to Mr. Fogg's Insane Asylum. She took a careful breath, trying to comprehend what had happened in such a short time. Despite the fact that she was locked away, she was still having difficulty truly accepting what occurred. Suddenly, a sharp shriek ripped through the silence, and echoed off the walls unmercifully. A moment later another wail followed, and then a chorus of despair erupted through the chamber. Johanna slammed her hands over her ears, biting her lip as not to join in to the song of misery. When the screaming quieted, her ridged spine relaxed and she slumped against the wall. As Johanna's frightened gaze remained fixed on the tiny window displaying the dim hallway, she wrapped her arms around herself in attempt to warm her shaking body. It did little if nothing to help her trembling, but nonetheless she remained in that position, a single tear of hopelessness trailing down her cheek.

_____________________

When Clara heard the noisy bustle growing louder as she progressed down the lane, she'd thought she was on the wrong street. Fleet Street was the most eerily quiet place in all of London, especially during the night. It was as though that particular street had no desire to be noticed by anyone, urging drifters to pass by without a second glance. Yet as Clara continued to walk, she was certain that she was on the correct route. Where was all the commotion coming from?

As Clara rounded the corner she felt her brows knit in instant bafflement. Mrs. Lovett's meat pie shop had its doors open wide, welcoming customers -and there were a lot of them- inside. In all the instances Clara passed the shop, not once had she seen anyone inside. That definitely did not mean Mrs. Lovett did not receive customers, but there looked to be at least three dozen patrons sitting in her veranda. In Clara's awestruck condition, she hadn't even noticed a figure cross her path, and she collided right into the person. She nearly lost her footing, but the gentleman she'd run into dropped what he was carrying to steady her.

"Easy there mum." said a surprisingly young voice. "You alright?"

Clara glanced downward into the pleasant face of a boy of about eleven or twelve years. She snapped from her dreamlike state and nodded with embarrassment.

"I'm fine lad, apologies for my clumsiness."

"No need mum, no 'arm done."

Clara dropped to her knees to assist the young man in picking up the groceries he'd dropped during his reflexive assistance. As she helped the boy replace the essentials in the paper bag, she glanced at him curiously.

"Do you know, young man, if that establishment there is still Mrs. Lovett's meat pie shop?"

The boy nodded eagerly. "Grand reopening mum, everyone's already raving, best pies in London."

"Really?" Clara glanced back at the busy place and furrowed her brow.

"I work for Mrs. Lovett me'self. She's a nice lady, her. Maybe nicest I'd ever known. Not that I've known many ladies mum."

"And what is your name, lad?" Clara asked with a grin.

"Tobias mum. Tobias Ragg. But Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd call me Toby."

"Mr. Todd?" The shocked emotion behind the name seemed to catch Toby unawares. He frowned slightly.

"Yes mum. Mr. Sweeney Todd, he's a barber who runs his shop out of the room upstairs."

Clara nodded slightly, forcing her shock to disappear.

"Of course. I'd just believed I'd heard that name someplace else is all. No matter. Well, I hope your mistress's shop continues to prosper."

Toby offered her a final smile before he started on his way. He stopped suddenly and turned to face her.

"Wouldn't you like a pie mum? Come on in and I'll serve you one right from the oven."

Clara could do with a decent supper, but she'd resolved never to eat another meat pie after being forced to swallow the ones comprised of cat meat. The thought of trapping an alley cat and popping it into a pie was repulsive, and she suspected Mrs. Lovett hadn't such a substantial rise in income that she could buy proper ingredients. Therefore, her meat had to come from somewhere. Not feeling inclined to tell Toby she didn't care for the taste of cat, she dipped her head in apologetic appreciation.

"Thank you for the offer Toby, but I've actually come to see Mr. Todd."

Toby nodded. "He should be upstairs, mum. Been up there all evening."

"Thank you."

Toby turned on his heel and strode across the street and then into the shop. Clara sighed. How was she going to gather up the courage to knock on Mr. Barker's door again? He was entirely different from the first time she'd met him. All the pleasant gayety had been stripped from his gaze, leaving behind only a cruel, pitiless void of what used to be. However, Clara took comfort in knowing Mr. Barker had found the compassion to assist Anthony and Johanna, so perhaps he was not as lost as she'd first thought. She took a deep inhale and prepared to confront her fear.

All of a sudden, Clara felt a hand grasp her arm. She spun about with a quick gasp, and immediately relaxed when she noticed it was only the beggar woman who lingered in front of Judge Turpin's. Clara wondered absently why the woman was now huddling in front of Mrs. Lovett's. Clara attempted to shrug the woman off of her, but the woman was resilient. Finally Clara turned to face her. Before she could speak a word, the woman began to babble.

"Dun't you smell that rott'n stench miss? Evil smell…Evil's lurke'n all around these days." Clara was disturbed by the eerily frantic tone behind the woman's words. "Dun't you see? Dun't you see? 'E comes from the grave 'e does, and she, the devil's wife, ain't got no pity in 'er heart!"

Clara was beginning to grow slightly apprehensive. Throughout her experiences, the woman had always been harmless, but she'd also never sounded so distressed. Clara took a breath to calm herself.

"There, there ma'am, I'm not sure what you're talking of, but there's nothing to fear."

"Look! Look!" The woman's voice scraped through Clara like nails. "Wha' I tell you?"

Clara followed the woman's gesture and caught a glimpse of Mr. Barker looming through the wide window of his shop. She studied the man thoughtfully, but she couldn't understand what was upsetting the woman. As Clara attempted to explain the foolish behavior was baseless, the woman grasped her by both her arms and began to shake her.

"Quick! Quick! Run and tell! Run and tell! Help fiend!" She released her and staggered backward, wailing, "City on fire!" over and over again.

Clara was motionless for a moment as the woman disappeared into a dark alley. Some flickers of nervousness shot through her system, and as she turned back to the window Mr. Barker was no longer there. Clara blew out a tense breath and then started at a brave march toward the barber shop. She slipped into the crowd of people, and stood there for a moment as she cataloged everything she wanted to say. She wasn't willing to confront Mr. Barker completely tongue-tied as she had last time. As she considered, she glanced upward and inhaled sharply. The barber was out on his veranda, appearing positively demonic as he paced back and forth like a caged animal. Clara swallowed and all previous implications of bravery faded as she turned away.

Although she felt somewhat relieved that she was completely out of sight, she knew that for the sake of Johanna she would eventually have to speak to the man. She tried to offer herself some encouragement, but it did little to ease the shaking in her legs. Finally, she made her decision, and she swung about to ascend the staircase before she could dissuade herself. However, just as took one step forward a man stepped directly in front of her and stepped up the staircase first. Clara watched Mr. Barker's expression light up as he escorted the gentleman into his shop. Clara rubbed the back of her neck, partially relieved. She would simply have to wait until Mr. Barker was finished with his customer. Clara had a seat at one of the tables, taking care to look as though she was a patron. However, instead of hailing young Toby for a pie she simply reached for a pitcher on the table and poured herself a glass of ale. As she downed the contents she immediately craved a stronger drink. Clara was by no means a drinker, but when she was particularly at her wits end she was known to take a glass of gin now and again. She settled with the ale, and waited patiently for Mr. Todd to finish with the gentleman.


	17. XVII

**-XVII-**

The screaming began again. Johanna buried her face in her hands in attempt to escape the utter darkness. She hummed to herself, trying desperately to block out the horrible noises. However, she was unsuccessful. Trapped in an unfathomable fear, Johanna stood up and leaned against the bars of her window, begging to find solace in the light of the moon. The shining white orb did little to ease her anxiety. The bars felt cold against her skin, but she preferred being as close to the outside world as she could be. At least the breeze on her face offered a slight comfort. Soon, to lighten the gloom, Johanna began to sing.

Her voice caught the wind and danced in the cool breeze. Her lyrics were comprised of all she knew, hate, fear, confinement… However, the melody was as smooth and hopeful as she could make it. She thought of her governess, Clara, and wondered what she was doing at that very moment. Then her thoughts turned to the handsome young features of Anthony. How she longed to see him again. Something in his countenance was so childlike and comforting. Just as Johanna tried to picture his accentuating features, Johanna heard a hushed voice rise from below. She glanced down, and her eyes lit up.

"Anthony!" Despite the surprise in her exclamation, her voice remained low.

Anthony stood beneath her barred window, and he waved happily. Johanna smiled and returned the gesture. Anthony placed his hands in his pockets, as if uncertain how to commence. After all, she'd been locked inside an insane asylum, and Johanna doubted Anthony would ever be able to rescue her from this god-forsaken place. Anthony glanced at her regretfully.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner. Actually, I'd thought I would never find you."

"I'm glad you did." Johanna said softly. "I don't know how I can stand another minute here, and at least seeing a familiar face offers a little comfort. Thank you for searching for me, and I am so sorry I wasn't able to escape with you."

"This isn't over yet Johanna." Anthony said, his voice changing abruptly from shyness to resolute dedication. "We're still going to escape together. It will just be a tad more difficult now than before."

Johanna did not even dare to dream she'd escape from the mad house. Such a thought could drive her over the edge if she dwelled on it. A tear trailed down her cheek, but she resolved not to let Anthony see how doubtful she was.

"I do hope so."

"Alright, I am going to circle this place and see if I can find a way in."

Johanna felt fear shoot through her. "No!"

Anthony looked quite confused at her hasty reply. She calmed herself and implored him with what expression she could manage from such a height.

"Please Anthony, I know it is abominable for me to request, but I don't want to be alone tonight. Can you stay with me until the morning?"

To her relief, Anthony grinned softly and nodded. "Of course."

Anthony sat on the cobblestones, and as the night wore on Johanna was immensely comforted by Anthony's mere presence. They didn't even have to speak to one another for reassurance; just being together was good enough for them both.

* * *

Clara waited for over an hour, sitting quietly at a table, twiddling her thumbs as she waited for the gentleman to leave Mr. Barker's parlour. Suddenly, another man wearing a large top hat strode passed her and preceded up the stairway. Clara rested her head wearily on her hand. How long would she have to wait to speak to Mr. Barker alone? Clara half expected the former gentleman to come waltzing down the stairs, and when he didn't she glanced up toward the door. Mr. Barker was there, offering the next patron into his establishment. Clara scratched her head in confusion. With a quick look about to be sure Mrs. Lovett or her servant boy Toby were not around to see her, she ascended the staircase as quickly as she could.

She kept to the shadows so as not to be seen, but she had a fairly good view of the door. Not through the window, but she would be able to see any customers coming and going. She was confident she'd be able to sneak in between customers simply enough. She waited, and continued to do so for much longer than she believed the length of time a shave required. However, the door remained closed. Clara had been about to swallow her nerve and knock on the door whether Mr. Barker was busy or not, but before she could stand yet another gentleman stepped up the stairs. Clara shrunk back, thinking that Mr. Barker's previous expertise more than a decade ago seemed to have sparked the business. Yet, as the door was swung open Clara saw with a brief shock that the barber chair was empty. Clara's brows pressed together in bewilderment. Surly there was another exit? Of course, there had to be. Clara's curiosity was soothed by this notion, and yet for some reason her pulse could not stop racing. Her bravery was diminished now, and so she decided she would wait until morning so that she might investigate these strange incidents.


	18. XVIII

**-XVIII-**

Toby was thoroughly enjoying his comfortable existence in Mrs. Lovett's shop. He was also very appreciative that his stomach was fuller than it had ever been before. He was pleasantly sleeping on one of Mrs. Lovett's frilly divans, and probably could have remained there all morning. However, it was not to be.

"Toby dear, get yourself outta bed."

Toby slowly got himself into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes wearily. The rays of the sun had just started to lighten the sky, telling Toby it was about the crack of dawn. It was later than he normally got up. Signor Pirelli insisted to have him out working in the wee hours of the morning, and as a result Toby was quite used to limited sleep. He stood up and stretched. Mrs. Lovett was already at work in the kitchen, and he ambled over to assist her. However, as he laid his hand on the first pot he'd planned to wash, he felt Mrs. Lovett's hand on his arm.

"Toby, I need you to do something for me."

Toby released the pot and smiled. "'Course mum."

Mrs. Lovett produced a letter and blew off the flour dusting the paper before handing it over. She pointed at it while offering her commands.

"I need you to deliver this to Bedlam as quickly as you can. Most of wot I've got to say is in the letter, but if they ask, they need to pick up a batty woman wandering about Fleet Street as soon as possible. Stress the urgency. Understand dear?"

Toby nodded, and for a moment the face of the kind woman he'd collided into the previous night came to his mind. Yet she did not seem the least bit loony, and so Toby ruled her out with relief. He nodded his head in understanding to Mrs. Lovett's request.

"Yes mum."

"Reason being, lad, is I don't want to scare any potential customers away. You know lunatics make people nervous and all. Don't want to hurt my business."

Toby understood this, and nodded once more before heading out the door. Yet before he could close it behind him he heard Mrs. Lovett call out.

"And be hasty darlin', I've planned a little outing for you, me and Mr. T. for lunch in the park, so hurry back love."

Toby took his leave of the shop, the letter carefully gripped in one hand. As he passed Mr. Todd's barber shop, he felt a chill dance up his spine. There was something about Mr. Todd that Toby didn't think was quite right. However, the man was far too aware to be partially insane, which Toby had suspected at first. Perhaps it was the way Mr. Todd always looked as though he had a mind to clout any who brushed too close to him. There was a dangerous air about him, but Toby thought that if Mrs. Lovett trusted the man, such thoughts about his character were ridiculous. Before Toby continued down the road, he spied a woman leaning in a concealed spot on the veranda, her head resting on the brick wall, fast asleep. Toby couldn't really make out her face, but he guessed she was the same woman he'd met in front of the shop. This knowledge did little to spark any interest in Toby, and the boy turned in the direction of Fogg's asylum to deliver Mrs. Lovett's letter.


	19. XIX

**-XIX-**

When Sweeney Todd disposed of the last customer no more had come. He supposed the early hour warranted this lull in business, and for a few lonely hours he sat in his barber's chair, still splattered with blood from his last victim. He had the photographs of Lucy and baby Johanna in his hands, and he stared at their faces frozen in contentment vacantly. Johanna had been hardly a year old when he was forced off to prison, and the last sound he heard from her was the pierced wail of despair. That memory would never fade, no matter how little of Benjamin Barker was left within Sweeney Todd. He allowed himself a moment of regret as he considered his child.

She would be sixteen now. He wondered if her hair was as yellow and beautiful as her mother's had been. Did she possess any features of her father? Todd looked at the photograph, and remembered that Johanna's eyes were of a similar colour as his. As a baby it was too difficult to tell if she resembled Benjamin Barker's thinly structured face or not. Vaguely, Todd hoped it didn't. He didn't want anything to remind him of the life that had been so brutishly snatched from him. How he wished he could have seen Johanna grow. He didn't know her anymore, but she would always be his little girl, no matter how many scores he settled, and no matter how many worthless curs he killed. He trailed a bloody finger down the photograph, his heart feeling heavy and emotionless simultaneously. He supposed the easiest way to cope with the emotional pain of losing his family would be to simply forget them altogether. All that mattered was exacting his revenge on Turpin.

All of a sudden there was a knock at the door. Todd snapped to his feet, hoping it was a customer. He strode to the door and flung it open, and frowned. Mrs. Lovett stood in the doorway, a pleasant smile on her face.

"Good morning love. How's business been?"

Sweeney Todd turned and walked back into his shop. "I think you are aware."

Mrs. Lovett laughed as though she was discussing an interesting piece of gossip; not the body tally in her bake house.

"I suppose I do. The measure of meat on one of those fellows is uncanny. Make a whole five dozen pies out of one customer."

Todd began to polish his razors as he patiently awaited what Mrs. Lovett had to say. She walked into the room, and folded her hands at her front as she shifted suspiciously. Todd eyed her carefully, and then returned to his work.

"I've been thinking Mr. Todd. 'Ow'd you like to take a little breather from this choppin' and come for a picnic?"

Todd's head turned sharply with a temperate expression of misunderstanding.

"What?"

"We've been working 'ard Mr. T. I think an outing will take our minds off our troubles for a while."

Sweeney Todd turned back to his razors, not indicating whether he agreed or not. He felt Mrs. Lovett at his shoulder.

"What'cha think, love? Hmm?"

Todd wasn't really paying attention to the woman. His thoughts were all focused on the Judge. He offered one curt nod to her question, and recoiled when she clapped him on the back joyously.

"Prepare yourself for a treat, Mr. T. When Toby returns we'll be on our way."

Mrs. Lovett hummed to herself as she exited the shop, and Todd listened absently at the fading clicks of her boots on the stairs. He set the razor down, and lifted the picture of his wife and child again. The smear of blood had stained the glass, but that was hardly a concern. He set the picture down gently, and then collapsed back into the barber's chair.

* * *

Clara blinked into wakefulness, rubbing her eyes as she yawned. It was a cool morning, but the sky was clearer than it had been in many weeks, and Clara hoped desperately for sun. Perhaps a shower of golden rays was all she needed to cleanse the dismal feeling from her weary spirit. However, she suspected even sunlight would do little to change it. The only person in the city she'd cared for was locked away in an asylum, and she needed to do what she could to help. Clara looked toward the door, and took a very deep breath. She would have to confront Mr. Barker now; there was no getting around it. Carefully she rose to her feet, feeling rather stiff after spending the night sitting upright. She stepped toward the door and held her breath as she knocked.

"Mr. Barker?"

There was no answer. She knocked again, and still received nothing. She wrinkled her forehead, and with a jitter she quietly opened the door.

"Mr. Barker? Are you there, sir?"

Clara poked her head into the room. It was a small chamber, and so it didn't take long for Clara to determine the shop was deserted. She felt confusion. Where could Mr. Barker have gone at a prime business hour? Taking yet another controlled breath to steady herself, Clara strode warily into the shop. It was nothing like she'd remembered. When she'd been welcomed into the Barker's home all those years ago, the place had been warm and comforting. Golden paper decorated the walls, and the room had been furnished with quaint furniture with pictures and wildflowers adding to the simplicity. The Barker's home had been simple but cozy, and nothing like the bleak emptiness that consumed the chamber now. A besmirched bureau was propped against a wall, and a rickety stool stood next to it. There was a stove in the corner, and on its surface perched a simple kettle.

Clara carefully stepped further into the room, and to her left she could catch her reflection in a cracked mirror. Intrigued, she examined the mirror, perceived at many subtly altered angles. There was a small cot there as well, however it did not look as though it had yet been slept in. Her interest in the mirror now diminished, Clara turned to face the centrepiece of the room. A scarlet barber's chair, with fierce lion heads decorating the armrests. While studying the strangely designed chair, Clara caught a glimmer of something on the bureau. At a quick pace she scurried to the dresser, where she discovered a box filled with six immaculate razors. From the empty spot in the centre, Clara guessed Mr. Barker had kept one of the blades on his person. Such an act was curious, but not exactly suspicious.

A thought had entered Clara's mind, one that she'd considered the previous night. Where was the exit? Clara took another quick turn before confirming there was no other way out besides the one entrance door. How then, did his customer's get out? To ease her odd tingling sensation she told herself she must have missed their departures. After all, she had fallen asleep rather quickly on the veranda.

Before Clara decided she'd invaded the shop for too long, she found herself once more studying the barber's chair. She got down on her hands and knees as she gazing into the chair's inner workings, and pursed her lips when she discovered a sort of mechanism holding the pieces together. She stood up; placing her hands on her hips as she wondered how such a thing could be of use to a barber. Her gaze dropped again, and she saw what looked to be a foot pedal of some sort. With only a slight hesitation Clara tapped the metal grate with her boot. Immediately a door just behind the chair snapped open, and Clara leapt back with a cry of surprise. The chair, meanwhile, had shifted from its current pose into a near vertical position. Clara could only look at the contraption with widened eyes. It suddenly reverted back to its original place, not offering a hint of evidence at what it had just executed. She stood there for a moment, shaking her head in bemused wonder. Her uneasiness consumed her, and she turned on her heel and marched out of the room as fast as she could.


	20. XX

**-XX-**

Toby had to admit that he was really beginning to enjoy his new life in the service of Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd. It was a far more comfortable existence than it had been under the rule of Signor Pirelli. Even though Toby was relieved his former master left without him, he still felt rather confused about the whole thing. After all, the Signor had purchased him, and Toby did not think he would willingly leave a possession behind. Toby was now enjoying a beautiful day in the park with his employers. Mrs. Lovett had been delighted when she found the perfect spot, and Toby had done what he could to help her set out the blanket for lunch. Mr. Todd appeared gloomy, as usual, and didn't eat a bite of what Mrs. Lovett prepared. After lunch, and to Toby's delight, Mrs. Lovett produced a kite and offered it to him with a kind smile.

"There you are lad, 'ave a bit of fun."

Toby was bewildered, but hardly hesitated as he leapt to his feet with a hurried thank you to Mrs. Lovett. He rushed into the open field, unraveling the twine around the kite. The days in London were always blustery; therefore Toby did not have to wait long to catch a gust. As the kite lifted into the embrace of air, he thought back to his early childhood. He'd been living in the brutal workhouse as long as he could remember, and he still had horrible nightmares of what happened in those confines. Being bought by Signor Pirelli seemed like the best thing that could have happened to him at the time. And now, he was under the wide open sky, flying a kite with a full belly. He couldn't restrain a quick glance to Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd, both sitting motionlessly on the blanket in the grass. For a moment he tried to imagine Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd as his parents, and the three of them picnicked as a family outing. However, the absurd notion was short-lived.

Mrs. Lovett was a kind lady, and could probably be an ideal mother. Mr. Todd on the other hand… Well, he seemed like a strict man, and what Toby knew of fathers that seemed normal. However, Mr. Todd's countenance was comprised of one blank expression. Toby constantly felt afraid in the man's presence, despite the fact that Mr. Todd had never done anything to warrant such trepidation. As Toby focused on his kite, he overheard Mrs. Lovett speaking rather adoringly to her companion.

"I've been thinkin' Mr. Todd. If business stays this good, you know what we should do?" Apparently Mr. Todd wasn't listening, because when Mrs. Lovett spoke again she was rather irritated. "Mr. T., you listen' to me?"

Toby could just barely make out Mr. Todd's gruff affirmative.

"Of course."

"Do you want to know where I've been dreamin' of living?"

"Yes, I do."

The measure of Mr. Todd's enthusiasm to Mrs. Lovett's question was minimal. Yet this fact was not at all surprising. Mr. Todd seemed to use the same flat tone in what little dialogue he offered. Mrs. Lovett rested back on her arms, and although Toby could not see her face, he imagined a dreamy gaze. Mrs. Lovett's face was always lit up like a candle whenever she was in the presence of Mr. Todd. Toby found it rather revolting.

"The sea Mr. Todd. How you think of that? Wot I wouldn't give to leave that dreary shop and move to a little house by the sea. You'd love it, Mr. Todd, I know you would."

When Mrs. Lovett leaned her head on Mr. Todd's stiff shoulder, Toby turned away. He wasn't comfortable with witnessing private affairs. However, he couldn't escape Mrs. Lovett's excited prospects.

"It would be so comfy, Mr. T. Can't you just imagine the three of us relaxing in a little house, entertaining guests and growing old together? It would be just smashing."

Toby admitted Mrs. Lovett's vision did sound nice, and he'd never seen the sea, apart from the docking bay in London. He tried to imagine it, with playful seagulls and acres of sand. He reckoned he might like to live there with his employers, and maybe once he knew Mr. Todd a little better the man would not seem so insufferable.

"It wouldn't be unusual, us both being widowers and all. Why, we could even be married. 'Ow's that sound to you Mr. Todd?"

At this, Mr. Todd remained silent, and Toby could say he expected no reply to Mrs. Lovett's question. The clouds were beginning to obscure the sunlight, and the wind had all but stopped. Toby watched his kite flutter to the ground like a wounded bird, and when it finally landed softly on the grass he lifted it up. He strode back toward the picnic blanket, and took a seat next to Mrs. Lovett. She glanced at him and smiled warmly, and then placed an arm around him.

"Enjoy yourself, love?"

Toby nodded happily. "Yes, thank you mum."

Toby noticed she also wrapped an arm about Mr. Todd's shoulders, but the latter didn't even react. She was gazing at him dreamily, but a sudden thought seemed to come to her and all her former vigor dissolved. After a moment she sighed deeply and patted both her companions on the shoulder.

"Well, bout time we headed back. We've likely lost a bit of business Toby, and no doubt Mr. T. has as well."

As Toby gathered the leftovers and packed up the basket, he kept an eye on Mr. Todd. He was standing now, and still staring off into the distance as though he could see something no one else could. And judging by the look in his face, the vision was nothing pleasant.

* * *

Dozens of thoughts whirled through Clara's mind at once, and yet none of them seemed plausible enough to consider. However, each dreadful thought was swiftly followed by a rational thought, and she found with relief that she could make some kind of sense out of the confusing situation. After rushing down the stairs and onto the street, Clara turned to take another look at the slanted window of Mr. Barker's barber shop. She didn't halt her walk, and suddenly she collided into someone. She caught her footing and bit back a curse. Why was she always running into people? It must have been due to how occupied her mind had been of late. She turned to address her latest victim, and realized with a slight startle that she stood, once again, before the beggar woman.

At the impact, a golden chain danced out of the woman's grasp and landed on the damp cobblestones. Clara touched her shoulder apologetically.

"Forgive me ma'am. Let me retrieve that for you."

Clara bent to pick up the dropped item while the woman began muttering a series of strange phrases. Clara shook her head in gentle tolerance of the woman's insanity, and reached for the chain. Her hand stopped as though it had been frozen when she found her gaze locked on the necklace. As the possession struck the ground, the locket attached to the chain had sprung open. However, it was not that occurrence that caused Clara to stare blankly with eyes as wide as saucers. Slowly and ever so gently she lifted the locket from the wet street. She lifted it to the level of her eyes and gasped. Two tiny pictures lay inside the golden treasure. One was a handsome man with a contented smile glowing from his unmistakable face, and the other was a gorgeous beauty with exquisite blond hair. Clara gazed up at the woman, attempting to peak through the grimy bonnet to see her face.

"…Mrs. Barker?" Clara's voice was nothing but a dazed whisper.

The beggar woman did not react to that name, and simply reached out to snatch the locket from Clara's numb grasp. She began to mumble to herself again, clutching the locket with a mad desperation. Clara was still kneeling in the street, her face deathly pale.

"That can't be…" Clara's words faded, and she watched the woman skip away down the street with a frown.

All of a sudden, Clara could hear the clattering of hoof beats against stone. Reflexively, Clara leapt up and rushed out of the street just as a horrid black coach came crashing by. Clara was not one to recover quickly from shocking situations, and she watched on for a few endless seconds as she wittinessed two ruffians apprehend Mrs. Barker. She shrieked with the intensity of an animal as she was forced into the coach. Finally, Clara had conquered her petrifaction.

"Wait! Stop!" She lifted her skirt and sprinted forward as fast as she could. "Please stop!"

She made it to the carriage just before it departed. She could do nothing but offer one hard strike to the rear of the coach as it sped off down the street. Clara tried to follow it initially, but eventually she slowed to a stop. By the markings on the coach, Clara was convinced this was the same carriage that had come for Johanna. Clara felt a sinking dismay form in the pit of her stomach. They would take an insane woman to Bedlam, and that was doubtlessly the destination of poor Mrs. Barker. Clara clenched her fists angrily. So if her observation about the coach was correct, Johanna too had been sent to the mad house. Clara felt a new determination light like a fire inside her. She would have to do everything she could to free Johanna and Mrs. Barker from the horrors they were destined to face.


	21. XXI

**-XXI-**

Another night of killing had past, and still Sweeney Todd had not slept. In wakefulness Todd had control over all emotion. At rest, however, this was a different matter entirely. The sun rose, and all Todd could do for a long while was lean against the windowpane. He stared out into the streets, wishing desperately that the Judge would simply materialize out of the crowd. As he stood in silence, he heard the door open.

"Mr. Todd?"

It was an unfamiliar voice, and Todd turned to face a middle-aged gentleman with his hat held securely with both hands.

"Are you open for business Mr. Todd?" The gentleman asked.

Todd smiled and inclined his head to welcome the patron.

"I am sir. Let me take your coat."

The man shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to Todd, who laid it on the stool out of his way. He motioned to the chair as he began to stir the lather.

"Fine day today, don't you think Mr. Todd?" The gentleman inquired politely as he laid back into the barber's chair.

"That it is sir."

Todd covered the man with a white smock, and quickly lathered the man's chin. Sweeney Todd was unsure how many gentlemen he'd killed the previous evening, but it was a high number, he recalled. Slitting throats seemed to become easier and easier the longer Todd continued practicing. He admitted he felt rather numb during the entire process, but he supposed that was normal when one human being was mercilessly murdering another. He unfolded his razor, feeling a tingle of anticipation as he brought the blade to the man's throat.

Just as he was about to slide the blade, Todd's head snapped up in response to the sound of the door creaking open. A smiling young lady sauntered in, guiding a little girl no more than four years. Todd froze in place, his eyes fixed on the pair. The woman smiled apologetically.

"Pardon our intrusion sir, but is there any place we might wait for my husband?"

Todd felt himself at a loss for words. Before he could speak the little girl smiled and pointed.

"Papa's covered in soap."

Todd furrowed his brow as the gentleman lifted his head up slightly with a grin.

"That's right sweetheart, Papa's going to have his whiskers shaved."

The woman was still looking at Todd while she waited for an answer. Todd gathered his wits and nodded toward the chest in the corner of the room.

"You and your daughter may wait there."

The woman bowed slightly in appreciation. The little girl followed her mother's example and curtsied rather sloppily. Todd would have smiled, had he not been aware that such a reaction would instantly split his heart. The girl hopped onto the chest beside her mother and gazed at her inanimate father intently. Sweeney Todd slowly but smoothly scraped the man's chin with his blade. His previous lust for blood vanished without a trace. As Todd finished around the gentleman's mouth, it seemed the man felt obliged to inquire about the barber serving him.

"My little girl's name is Amy and she's an angel, just like her mother. Have you any children Mr. Todd?"

Todd froze in mid sweep, but he recovered without betraying any of his inner turmoil.

"Yes. A daughter."

"Ah, splendid. And how old is your daughter Mr. Todd."

Sweeney Todd had trouble understanding why he felt so uncomfortable with answering the gentleman's questions. He didn't believe he missed Johanna any longer, yet the more he considered his child he felt a foreign ache in his chest. Todd unwillingly glanced at the pictures of his wife holding their little daughter. Again, he wondered what she looked like after fifteen years. He cleared his throat.

"Sixteen years old."

"A proud man you must be, Mr. Todd."

Sweeney Todd did not answer this. He'd finished his work, and offered the gentleman a cloth to wipe off any access lather. Todd turned his back on the family, and focused on the window once more. He felt a hand grasp his shoulder, and he turned about to have a few shillings pressed into his hand.

"Thank you very much sir. I've never had such a clean shave. I will certainly be returning."

Todd was too hollow to speak, and watched the family take their leave. Before the door closed, the little girl popped her head back in and smiled happily.

"Thank you Mr. Todd."

Her voice was so tiny and so innocent, and all Todd could manage was a curt nod of acknowledgment. He heard the family's footsteps fade, and then all was silent once more. Todd turned back to the window, cursing his conflicting emotion to the depths of hell where they belonged.

* * *

Anthony had remained beneath Johanna's window for two nights, and she was ever so grateful for his kindness. She hardly believed she'd last in such a horrible place all on her own. Yet, as the sun lit the sky for the second time, Anthony got to his feet.

"I've got to go now Johanna."

Johanna felt her spine stiffen. Even the previous day when he'd searched the stronghold for a way in, she'd been counting down the minutes until his return. Yet she knew Anthony could not do anything for her as it was.

"Where will you go?" Johanna asked calmly, attempting to keep the tremor from her voice.

Tremor or not, Anthony could still see her dread.

"I can't get you out on my own. I'm going to go see Mr. Todd; he'll know what to do."

Johanna didn't know who this Mr. Todd was, but from the way Anthony spoke of him he appeared a very generous man indeed. Johanna clutched the bars and forced a brave expression.

"I will be here Anthony, please return as soon as you possibly can."

"I will."

With a final regretful glance, Anthony darted around the corner and disappeared.


	22. XXII

**-XXII-**

Sweeney Todd heard the door open again, but this time the intruder was Mrs. Lovett. There was a bounce to her step that suggested she was in a fine mood. She shut the door behind her and Todd heard her place something on his table.

"Some breakfast for you love."

Todd didn't react. He was lost in the crowds bustling on the streets. There was a moment of silence, and Todd wasn't sure if Mrs. Lovett was still in the room. Then he heard a deep sigh.

"Mr. T. Can I ask you a question?"

"What?" Todd grunted out the words with no genuine interest.

Silence prevailed again, but Mrs. Lovett was not deterred. "What did your Lucy look like?"

Todd's attention on the street faded, and now he was focusing intently on his own translucent reflection in the window. He looked at his eyes. They still had an amount of brown in them, however they possessed no compassion and humanity any longer, and Todd wouldn't be surprised if one day they turned completely black. The shock of white that trailed from his hairline was a stark contrast to his mess of disheveled black hair. There was nothing he recognized in his face that sparked any identification to his former self. He thought about Lucy, and was half-surprised that there was little he could truly remember about her. He'd forgotten the sound of her voice, the taste of her lips and even her shy little laugh. The only memory of his wife he'd retained was the sound of her horrified scream when he'd been arrested. That, and one thing more.

Todd felt barely a flicker of a smile feather the corner of his mouth.

"She had yellow hair." He spoke almost to himself.

There was a sound of boots tapping behind him as Mrs. Lovett came closer. Todd felt a hand on his shoulder, but he did not move. Mrs. Lovett voice was melancholy when she spoke next.

"You're gonna 'ave to put this behind you, Mr. Todd, it ain't healthy to dwell on those you've lost. And she's gone. We can have a life too, you know. Maybe not the way I dreamt, and maybe not the way you remember. But we could get by, the two of us…me and you."

Sweeney Todd felt oddly confused at Mrs. Lovett's proposal. He had heard her jabbering on about marriage in the park, but he didn't see to consider it. He turned. When he looked in her eyes he saw genuine acceptance in her. Her smile was small, but she was serious in her desire to marry him. Todd found this incredibly strange. How could she think of placing herself alongside him, after all he'd done? Did she not care? Although Todd felt no flattery in the issue she was discussing, he did feel a sense of fondness for the woman. Yet he knew he could never marry her. He was not Benjamin Barker any longer, and yet he only had eyes for one woman. And she was dead, and because of this Sweeney Todd would never love anyone again.

Mrs. Lovett didn't seem to see the vague refusal in Todd's eyes, and the smile remained on her face while she hoped he was still considering. Suddenly the door swung open nearly off its hinges as Anthony burst into the room, his face flushed with exhaustion.

"Mr. Todd! Mrs. Lovett mum!" He sagged over as he attempted to replenish his breath.

"What is it Anthony?" Todd asked intolerantly.

Anthony took a deep inhale. "He has her locked in a mad house."

Sweeney Todd felt a jolt of shock, then a jab anger, and then nothing at all.

"Johanna?"

"Mr. Fogg's Asylum. But I've circled the place a dozen times and there's no way in. It's a fortress."

Just as Anthony had concluded his emotional rant, a brilliant idea came to Mr. Todd. He felt a wave of excitement shoot beams of life inside him.

"I've got him." Todd mumbled with a deranged enthusiasm.

By the look on Mrs. Lovett's face, she'd heard what he said. However Anthony, being the oblivious fool he was, could only raise a brow in confusion. Todd marched over to the lad and placed a hand on his shoulder. His mind was still reeling as he explained the first portion of his plan to the young sailor.

"Where do you suppose all the wigmakers go to obtain their hair?" The question was rhetorical; so Todd continued without delay. "Bedlam. They get it from the lunatics at Bedlam."

Anthony still appeared confused. "Mr. Todd?"

Too engaged in his own ponderings, Todd was patient with the lad.

"You will disguise yourself as a wigmakers apprentice, and that will gain you access. Then you take her. Go. Quickly, go!"

Todd offered Anthony an encouraging shove, and the boy called out an exclamation of thanks as he rushed down the stairs. So many thoughts were going through Todd's mind he felt triumphantly overwhelmed. At last he was on track again. He marched to the table where he set out a sheet of crisp parchment and a jar of ink.

"Fetch the boy." Todd ordered as he searched for his pen.

Mrs. Lovett hesitated, and then spoke with barely a hint of irritation. "Don't you think you should leave the boy alone?"

Todd whirled on her, anger apparent in his features. She obviously was not prepared to argue with him, and departed with obvious disinclination. Todd lifted his pen and began to scrawl out a letter to the Judge.

* * *

Toby's chores were monotonous, but he didn't mind. His arms would get very sore from time to time due to consistently wiping down tables, but he never uttered a complaint. He finished polishing the wood and stood upright, cringing when he heard a tiny crack. He stretched out his arm and prepared to wash the next table. Suddenly, he heard Mrs. Lovett's voice behind him.

"Toby, Mr. Todd needs to see you."

Toby felt a shiver dance up his spine, but he didn't let his discomfort show. He left the rag on the table to mark his place.

"Yes mum."

Toby rushed up the steps, hoping he wouldn't be engaged with Mr. Todd for long. He was frightened enough of the man in the presence of Mrs. Lovett, but seeing the brooding barber alone made Toby ridged with childish fright. He didn't know whether to knock or not, but since it was Mr. Todd who sent for him Toby opted on the latter. He pushed open the door and slipped inside. Mr. Todd was finishing what looked to be a letter. Toby swallowed back his nervousness.

"You sent for me, sir?"

Mr. Todd remained silent for a couple moments. He didn't look at Toby when he spoke.

"Do you know where the Old Bailey is?"

Toby thought it best to answer quickly so that he might get out of that room all the faster.

"Yes sir."

Mr. Todd offered the letter. "Take this there. Seek out a Judge Turpin and put this into his hands. Only to him. Do you understand?"

Toby held the letter securely and nodded in conformation. As he took a backward step to the door, Toby remembered something Mrs. Lovett had told him she needed.

"Yes sir. And while I'm out, do you mind if I stop by the grocer just to pick-"

"No." Mr. Todd interrupted sharply. "You are not to stop, and you're not to speak." Mr. Todd stepped toward him to emphasize his order, and Toby felt his stomach flutter in nervousness. "You're to deliver the letter. Do you understand?"

Toby decided the best thing to do would be leave Mr. Todd's frightening presence as soon as possible. He nodded.

"Yes sir."

And with that Toby left the shop very much relieved. He stepped down the stairs with his arms and legs still feeling quite shaky. As he started down the street to fulfill Mr. Todd's orders, Toby began to wonder why the man inspired such fear in him. It was not as though he'd done anything to warrant such apprehension, and he'd never raised a hand against Toby like Signor Pirelli had. Both he and Mrs. Lovett worked together in a mutual business relationship. Those who came by for one of Mrs. Lovett's famous meat pies might desire to pop up for a shave, and alternatively gentleman who visited Mr. Todd may fancy a pie before continuing on their way. It was a clever cooperation.

As Toby walked past the shop he dared a look up at the wide, slanted window in Mr. Todd's shop. There he saw Mr. Todd pacing back and forth, staring out toward the horizon with a hateful expression so dark it made Toby cower. He picked up his pace to a trot, and rushed down the road with the letter gripped tightly in his hands.


	23. XXIII

**-XXIII-**

Johanna had only turned away from the window when she heard noises in the hall. These sounds were not shrieks of insanity, but the lumbering clicking of boots on stone. Johanna trusted in Anthony to attain a method of escape, and therefore she had not found the need to plan her own flight. Yet she'd resolved that after the Beadle had molested her with his meaty hands she would not be taken advantage of again. When the clicking stopped just before her door Johanna concealed herself in the shadows. With terrifying deliberation, the door slowly squeaked open, shedding a widening shaft of light into the dank cell. Johanna inhaled quietly, desperately burying her terror. She saw the shadowed form of a spindly middle-aged man come into the chamber.

"'ere 'ere li'l one. Come un out now. I got a li'l surprise for you."

Shivers of fear raked up Johanna's spine, but she didn't move. The ugly scarecrow of a man moved farther into the cell, a wicked smile on his face.

"Come out deary, where'ya hiding?"

Johanna waited until the man reached the furthest side of the cell before she burst into motion. She swung about the door and with a desperate heave on the metal she swung it shut. She heard the surprised exclamations of the guard inside the cell, but it was quickly muffled by the heavy door. Johanna took off down the hall at a dead run, lifting her dirty skirts so she wouldn't trip. Her thoughts were in a whirl, desperately trying to remember the path through the labyrinth of halls. The flow of insane screaming didn't help her concentration. Just as she rounded the corner she plowed directly into a crooked old man. Despite his age, he was sturdy, and Johanna felt herself bounce onto the ground painfully.

The man Johanna recognized to be Mr. Fogg, the supervisor of the asylum, stood over her with a horrid expression. It was a frightening mix of fleeting surprise and sinister amusement. Before Johanna could react the man reached down and lifted her up by the arm.

"Now where do you think you're off to in such a hurry, missy?"

Johanna yanked at his grip.

"You can't keep me here. You know I'm not crazy, you _know_ it." Johanna was attempting to display feinted courage, but the shaking in her voice abolished that delusion.

"I don't have the slightest idea what you're rambling about, but you seem to be a danger to everyone around you. Perhaps it would be better to have you relocated to a new home."

All Johanna felt was dread, and she whimpered in a desperate combination of fury and unimaginable fear. As Johanna was fitted with a decaying straight-coat and forced down the hall, she told herself that Anthony would be coming back for her. She would leave this wretched place.

* * *

Clara had been wandering about the streets in desperate search of Anthony. She came to the reluctant conclusion that she would not be a good deal of help to Johanna or Mrs. Lucy Barker. Clara possessed a seed of bravery, but she had yet to make it flourish in such a way that those she cared about would be protected. She failed Mrs. Barker so many years ago, and she'd failed Johanna miserably. However, to make things right she needed to find the man who was so determined to release the young woman.

As Clara strode down the street at a rapidly resolute pace, she caught a sight of a familiar figure in the lamplight. She squinted in the darkness, and then scurried toward the lad she'd met some nights ago. She decided to test her theory before she scared the daylights out of the poor boy.

"Toby?"

The lad stopped abruptly and turned. By the way he looked at her Clara assumed he couldn't recognize her in the darkness of the night. She tried to remedy that.

"Toby. It's Clara, Clara Cartwright."

The boy still looked slightly confused. "Who?"

"Clar-" Clara suddenly recalled she had purposely not offered her name to the boy when she'd first met him. So she clarified. "Sorry lad. I am the lumbering nit who plowed into you a few nights ago. My name is Clara Cartwright."

Suddenly the boy's face lit with instant recognition. "Right mum, I remember now. Though I wouldn't call you lumbering…"

"Polite falsities aside Toby, I would like to ask you something." They were on Fleet Street, and only a few yards from Mr. Barker's shop. Clara risked a look at the sinister structure before continuing. "You are under the employment of Mr. Benjamin Barker and Mrs. Lovett, yes?"

Toby's brow wrinkled in apparent confusion, and Clara felt regretful that she was creating so much bewilderment in the boy.

"I do work for a Mrs. Lovett mum, but the gentleman who works partnership with her is Mr. Sweeney Todd."

Clara clicked her teeth, remembering her conversation with Anthony quickly. Mr. Sweeney Todd of Fleet Street. With a slow exhale, Clara reached out and rested a firm hand on Toby's shoulder.

"Keep your eyes open lad, I've got a feeling something is not quite right here. I can't explain it, but it would be wise for you to keep your guard up."

Toby's eyes were wide, but startlingly unsurprised at her warning. He nodded once in acknowledgment.

"Yes mum, I'll be careful. Bu' I've got to be getting back soon as I can. Its dinnertime now, and Mrs. Lovett'll be need'n me."

"Go on then Toby. Sorry for the discourteous interception."

Clara watched young Toby continue down the street, and she heaved a sigh. Something was defiantly not right. However, she wasn't sure if the danger involved Mr. Barker directly or not. She'd only seen him once since his return, and hadn't scrounged up the courage to see him again. However, Clara knew that his wife lived, whether he did or not. If he did not, then Clara could not withhold such vital information from the shattered man. Yet she also believed it was important to get Mrs. Barker out of the asylum as quickly as possible. If Mr. Barker was indeed slightly unstable, than involving himself in an attack that would send him back to prison was not a constructive outcome.

Clara nodded her head subconsciously. No, Clara could not relay the information until Mrs. Barker was out of that dreadful place. She didn't for a moment suspect that Mr. Barker would reject his wife on account of her madness. From the love she'd spied in the once joyous man's eyes all those years ago, nothing could corrupt his adoration. After years of imprisonment on a false charge, Mr. Barker deserved to have his wife returned to him. As Clara continued searching, she finally caught a glimpse of someone stepping out of a shop whose stance looked very familiar. When she got closer she realized it was indeed Anthony, and he was dressed much smarter than his station required. Anthony turned and glimpsed her.

"Miss Cartwright mum. Good evening."

"Or not so good, sir. You've discovered where Johanna has been taken?"

"An insane asylum, mum, and I'm getting her out tonight."

Clara nodded slowly. She did not need to presume his method, for she was very confident he would succeed. "Anthony, I hope it will not inconvenience your plans if I come along."

Anthony's expression shifted, utterly aghast. "Mum?"

"I know it is horrid of me to ask, but although I am saving my prayers for Johanna's escape I'm afraid there is another that is in desperate need of liberation."

Anthony wrinkled his brow, and Clara could not say she was surprised by his reaction. "I'm afraid the danger is too great mum, for your safety as well as for Johanna. Perhaps I can assist the prisoner in question, if it does not put Johanna at risk."

"Of course, and I would be grateful to you lad, far more than I can repay in several lifetimes. Thank you." Clara unconsciously placed a hand on his cheek in appreciation, and then quickly removed it. "She wears a dirty bonnet and is dressed from head to foot in rags. If you can see it, the most distinguishing aspect of her appearance is yellow hair."

"Yellow hair…" Anthony spoke quietly, as though his mind was elsewhere.

Clara attempted to jolt him back into the present. "Yes, and she holds a lovely gold locket. Thank you again Anthony, and the very best of luck to you and Johanna."

Anthony reached for her hand and shook it vigorously before bolting off at a dead run. Clara watched him depart, and suddenly shivered as tingles of dread darted through her. If she thought she'd be of any use to the young fellow, she would have argued to accompany him in a heartbeat. She so desperately wished to see Johanna again. As Clara thought fondly back to Johanna's relatively happy days when she'd been permitted to skip outdoors, she felt the hole in her heart fill only slightly. Although the hole would never be fully complete, Clara presumed it would recover even more when Mr. and Mrs. Barker were reunited and Johanna was finally free.


	24. XXIV

**-XXIV-**

Toby considered Miss Clara Cartwright's warning during his return to the shop. He wasn't sure how the lady was acquainted with his employers, but she seemed to know enough about them to convince Toby his paranoia wasn't paranoia at all. There was something truly wrong here, and he would have to seek it out to put his mind at ease. He stood below the stairs, looking first into Mrs. Lovett's shop and seeing not a soul in sight. Of course he didn't, dinnertime was a few hours ago. He didn't see Mrs. Lovett either. Toby felt awful that he'd left Mrs. Lovett alone during the dinner rush, and he assumed she was probably resting. He shouldn't waken her.

So Toby gathered his courage and started up the stairway. He had intended to report to Mr. Todd that he had successfully delivered the letter to Judge Turpin. Yet he supposed he would leave out the detour past the workhouse where Toby used to live. It was still as miserable a place as ever, and Toby remembered each horrible memory with a cringe. Mrs. Lovett really was the first person who'd ever shown him kindness, and he believed he owed her greatly for that.

Toby reached the top step and prepared to knock on the door. However, Mr. Todd looked to be busy tending a customer. As Toby contemplated whether or not he should come back later his eyes widened in absolute horror. Mr. Todd dragged his razor across the gentleman's throat, and Toby was petrified as he watched blood squirt though the gash in the man's neck. Toby felt as though something in the air was trying to strangle him. He didn't wait any longer. He took off down the stairs, slipping twice, and burst into the pie shop.

"Mrs. Lovett! Mrs. Lovett!"

Toby restrained the screams of terror he wished to release, but if Mr. Todd heard him he would grow suspicious. His voice was a shout of urgency, and nothing more. Mrs. Lovett strode out of the living room with her hand over her forehead. She must have been asleep.

"Where've you been lad, we had quite a rush-" Mrs. Lovett's words trailed off as Toby grasped her hands breathlessly.

"Please mum. We've got to go now." Toby began to pull her toward the door, his face alight with fear.

Mrs. Lovett held strong against his forcing. "What's this Toby? What are you on about?

Toby thought the quickest way to be out of there was to explain what he saw. "It's Mr. Todd mum. He's a murderer. I just saw him kill a man upstairs. We've gotta get out of here now."

Mrs. Lovett's face turned absolutely white, and her gaze shifted to the side as though she was thinking very quickly. With Mrs. Lovett in a state of shock, Toby took advantage and began to pull her toward the door again. However, she remained just as steadfast as she had before the news. She dropped to one knee in front of Toby, and to his surprise her expression looked very sad. She touched him gently on the cheek, and then spared a glance upward, as though she could somehow see Mr. Todd through the wooden planks.

"Listen darlin', I can't leave without packing along a few things. I won't be a minute, alright?"

Toby's racing pulse was causing his whole body to vibrate with the need to run, but he respected Mrs. Lovett's wishes. Suddenly, Mrs. Lovett wrapped her arms around him with a warmth Toby had never felt before. He was too shocked to react. He heard Mrs. Lovett's quiet voice.

"You've been good to me Toby. I'm sorry…"

Mrs. Lovett sounded as though she was about to cry. Toby raised a questioning brow.

"What you mean mum?"

Mrs. Lovett pushed away from him and held him firmly by both shoulders.

"I'll be right back love. You wait right here for me."

Toby nodded mutely, and did as commanded. He eased into the booth just as Mrs. Lovett disappeared into the living room. Toby kept his gaze fixed on the staircase, ready to dash off if he saw the frightening figure of Mr. Todd coming down the steps.

* * *

Clara paced back and forth, trying and miserably failing to ease her nervousness. She wondered if she should see Mr. Barker now, and at least introduce herself. It was apparent he did not remember her, and she wasn't the least bit surprised that he didn't. But she decided against that course of action for the time being. Once Johanna was safe everything would be alright, and if Anthony was unable to free Mrs. Barker from Mr. Fogg's asylum, Clara would just have to concoct a plan herself. Clara leaned on a lamppost, energy utterly spent on ceaseless pacing. She glanced toward the shop, and felt instantly perplexed at what she saw.

A woman, who Clara realized to be Mrs. Lovett, was commanding the attention of an officer in the street. Clara quietly slipped into the alleyway where she could better observe the exchange, but no matter how hard she tried she could not hear what they said. The officer hailed another, and the two men marched into the pie shop followed by Mrs. Lovett. Clara stuck her tongue in her cheek, wondering what could possibly be going on.


	25. XXV

**-XXV-**

Toby was still intent on Mr. Todd's inevitable appearance as he waited patiently for Mrs. Lovett to finish her packing. He did all he could to banish the vision from his mind, but to no avail. All he could see was a stream of blood, and Mr. Todd's shockingly emotionless expression. Why had he killed that man? What was his motive for doing something so horrendous? As he contemplated this, he heard the main shop door swing open beside him. Two men in blue uniforms had marched inside the shop. One met his gaze, and to Toby's surprise he came at him with a dangerous look.

"Come on boy, let's not have any trouble."

"What?" Toby slipped out of the booth as the officer reached toward him. The second bobby circled about the kitchen to cut off his quarry. Toby was flabbergasted at the officers' conduct, but he strove to right the misunderstanding. "It's not me, I did nothing. Mr. Todd upstairs, I saw him kill a man-"

"There, you see." Mrs. Lovett sauntered into the room lazily, hands on hips. "Poor lad's lost his wits."

Toby felt his jaw drop and he didn't try to escape again as one officer grasped him roughly by his collar. Despite Mrs. Lovett's indifferent words, her eyes were glazed with unshed tears.

"Come on now, there's a good lad." The officer said as he dragged him toward the door. "We know where to send barmy little urchins like you."

Toby whipped his head about and grasped on to the door as tight as he could. He stared at Mrs. Lovett with eyes as big as saucers.

"…Mum?"

"I'm sorry Toby." Now a tear did break through her reserve. "I know you dun't understand, but its better this way son. Believe me."

Toby's hands were wrenched off the door and he was carted down the street. Toby had endured a lot in his twelve years of living. He'd been beaten so many times it seemed quite normal to him, and he'd been close to starvation more times than he could count. However, he'd never felt such a numbing pain as the sense of betrayal that seemed to burn a hole through his heart.

__________________

Clara's heart skipped a beat as she watched Toby being forced down the street by two large officers, the same officers who had been speaking with Mrs. Lovett. Clara's hand snapped to her mouth in surprise. What was going on? She followed the men as Toby and his captors stopped before a police coach.

"…but I saw it! You have to go back and look for yourselves!"

Clara furrowed her brow. Mr. Barker? Is that who the boy was talking about?

"O' course we believe you lad. Dear Mr. Todd's a murderer you claim. Of course. A barber would 'ave many a reason to slit 'is customers. What do you take us for boy?"

A tiny noise, almost a sob, emitted from Clara, and she pressed a fist against her mouth in absolute shock. What was…? She couldn't even consider what was being said right now. What she needed to do was get Toby away from those men. However, before Clara could decide on her next course of action, the officer's tossed Toby brutishly into the back of the police wagon.

"No! Wait!" The shout echoed through the street, but the coach did not heed her call.

Clara raced down Fleet Street, fueled by an incontrovertible desire to prove her worth after so many years of letting herself and others down. She resolved not to let the wagon out of her sight, even if it meant to accept a few less-than-honest considerations. Farther up the street, Clara caught sight of an elegant carriage obviously waiting for its riders to board. There was no driver that Clara could see, and so she followed a very quick and decisive instinct. She leapt aboard, slipping once while she scrambled, and grasped the reigns tightly in her hands. She slapped the cords, and found herself to be strangely exhilarated as she galloped down the empty street. Perhaps it was the feeling of finally reacting to the misfortunes that had began to occur. She needed to do something, anything, to help.

As the biting wind whipped past Clara's exposed face she couldn't help but think that Toby's arrest was all her fault. She had a very strong instinct that something diabolical was going on, and yet she'd allowed the poor boy to waltz back in there. Then the thought of Mr. Barker being a murderer filled Clara's mind, but she clamped her teeth angrily and shoved the visions aside. They would be of no use to her now; she had to think of the situation at hand. She was a safe distance behind the police wagon, but kept her eyes fixed on it the entire journey. She knew where they were going, and she only hoped Johanna had already escaped from the dreadful place.


	26. XXVI

**-XXVI-**

Johanna's head remained lowered and she made no eye contact with the other prisoners sharing the cell. There were more than a dozen women of various ages crammed inside the small chamber, and each one appeared crazier than the next. Most looked scared like her, and others appeared rather undisturbed by the proximity. Johanna was thankful that the ragged jacket she was forced to wear hadn't been tightened yet, and she still had a limited use of her arms. Not that it would do much to help her situation. She sat motionless in the far corner of the room, not surprised that all the mumbling and chattering she heard from other prisoners was gibberish.

Johanna settled herself into her corner, resting her head on the stone. A few of the women stared at her, and at first Johanna had been incredibly disconcerted. However, she'd grown used to the vacant stares now, but never acknowledged or reacted to them. She found it beneficial to imagine herself somewhere else and as a result the fear would not be so destructive on her. Despite her best efforts, she felt a warm tear trickle down her cheek.

"Dear, dear, dear…"

Johanna jolted, instantly startled by the voice so close. She turned, and met the partially concealed face of a woman who looked vaguely familiar. Johanna wrinkled her nose and studied the woman for a moment, and came to the conclusion that it was the beggar from the street near Judge Turpin's manor. Although Johanna felt an odd twinge of reassurance at the familiarity, she'd never met the woman before and remained just as tense with her as with any other. The beggar woman leaned toward her, and Johanna pressed her back farther into the stone.

"Dear…my dear…"

The woman was beginning to frighten her, but there was nothing Johanna could do escape her. So she kept as still as stone as the woman gently touched her cheek with a dirty hand and brushed away her tear, surprisingly tender.

"They got li'l Johanna too did they?" The woman's voice was indifferent, and chilled Johanna to the bone. However, she grew confused at how the woman knew her name.

"You know me?" Johanna asked quietly.

"Escape dun't come easy to the ludicrous li'l one. Best dig your way out quick. Quick, skip…"

Johanna could not understand the woman at all. Just as she was about to give up on the beggar and attempt to ignore her, she caught a glimpse of gold in the woman's hands. As her gaze remained fixed on it, the woman began to speak once again.

"Don't cry little one…daddy will be 'ome soon…don't cry my precious…he'll come 'ome."

Johanna's gaze snapped up, and met a pair of warm green eyes. The woman was looking at her, her expression blank. There were welts and festers across her skin, but her bone structure and features struck Johanna as somewhat pretty. She couldn't take her eyes off the woman's.

"…what…what did you say?" Johanna's voice was a whisper.

The woman laid a freezing hand on Johanna's cheek. "…my dear…my Johanna. Sweet little girl. Mommy loves you…"

Johanna felt her vision whirl as she stood up, her body shaking with ceaseless tremors of shock. Tears began to pour down her cheeks and she closed her eyes to fight off the unwanted memory. The woman was still sitting, and didn't respond to Johanna's reaction. Johanna didn't know what to do. Was this woman really her mother? She didn't know. She couldn't truly know considering the woman was insane. Johanna wanted to scream, but she couldn't. She bit her lip and slowly sagged back to a sitting position. The woman was busily examining the locket in her hands. Johanna took a deep breath, and leaned toward the woman.

"Who are you?"

The woman didn't answer. She was humming to herself as though she were a little child, and continuously polished the locket with her sleeves. Johanna was still shaking, but she couldn't feel the cold any longer. Warily, she laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. The woman looked up at her as though Johanna was a stranger she'd never met. Johanna voice was low and pleading.

"Are you my mother?"

The woman still did not reply. She continued to sing absently, and gazed at her locket once again. Johanna sat back, defeated. Suddenly, the woman pressed the locket into Johanna's hands. Johanna hadn't even the time to react to the gesture before the woman rose and staggered away, muttering about demons and fire. Johanna didn't dare call after her, but instead she studied the locket the woman had given her. With trembling fingers she snapped the locket open. The left side sported a grayscale picture of a very handsome young man wearing the warmest of smiles. There was nothing in the photo that sparked any recognition within Johanna, but she felt her heart feel so much more at ease as she gazed into his comforting face. Then her attention turned to the picture on the right. The woman pictured there was absolutely exquisite, and the most beautiful woman Johanna had ever seen. Unlike the gentleman, the woman appeared very familiar.

Johanna felt her eyes widen, and her shocked expression tilted upward as she glanced toward the beggar woman. She possessed exactly the same features as the lady in the picture. Johanna glanced toward the photo again, finding herself pleasantly lost within the measures of happiness projected by the couple. She studied the outer shell of the locket, and noticed that on the back there was an engraving that read: _Johanna Barker_. Johanna didn't notice the tears this time, even as they blurred her vision and dripped off her chin. She turned the locket back over in her hands, and admired the pictures once again. So the woman in the cell was her mother. Johanna brushed a hesitant finger across the handsome picture of her father. She held the locket for a long time, crying uncontrollably, as her disturbed mother continued to pace and chatter bizarre nonsense into the darkness.


	27. XXVII

**-XXVII-**

Sweeney Todd walked without falter down the staircase and threw open the door to Mrs. Lovett's pie shop. His eyes were intense, for his soul was prepared to finally eradicate the man he abhorred. His gaze rested on a figure slumped in at the wooden table.

"What was all the commotion about?" Todd demanded coldly.

Mrs. Lovett snapped into a ridged position, obviously surprised by Todd's intrusion. She glanced at him, and her eyes were red.

"Oh, Mr. Todd. Didn't 'ere you come in love." She sniffed loudly, and rested her hand on her forehead. "Its these cool nights, always give me a bit of a sniffle now an' again."

Mrs. Lovett got to her feet and cleared her throat as though she could cover up the apparent fact that she'd been crying. She marched toward the counter when Todd remained silent, and began to busy herself with tidying. Todd really wasn't concerned at what was troubling his neighbor, but he was interested to know of Toby's whereabouts. The boy had not reported back to him, and Todd wanted to be absolutely sure that the letter had been delivered. He fixed his gaze on Mrs. Lovett.

"Where's Toby?"

The sound of the bowl clattering to the ground was almost unbearable as it echoed through the silence. Mrs. Lovett looked toward Todd with a smile.

"Hasn't he returned yet?" She dropped down to pick up the bowl she'd neglected. "Thought he'd be back by now."

Todd angled his eyes, but said nothing. Mrs. Lovett was not a woman to fluster easily. However, Todd was not in the spirit to question her about the lad any longer. There was much he needed to prepare before the Judge arrived.

"Tell the boy to see me as soon as he arrives."

With that final command Todd turned about and shut the door.

* * *

Even as Toby was dragged through the eerie passages of the dreaded asylum he remained in petrified bafflement. He still could not fully grasp the severity of what had transpired not two hours previous. He'd seen Mrs. Lovett's mournful expression, and this betrayed the fact that she'd known precisely what she'd done. She banished Toby there purposely, and at first her motive behind such a deed failed the poor boy. The reason became clearer as Toby was taken farther into the horrid place. She knew of the horrible thing Toby had witnessed in Mr. Todd's parlor, and she did not want this information circulating. For some strange reason she was protecting Mr. Todd's murderous ways from discovery, and it was this state of mind that baffled Toby. Didn't she know that she was at risk being in league with a murderer?

Toby knew the truth, but no matter how long he rattled off his accounts he was shunned. No one believed him, and why would they? He was branded a lunatic, and it was his ravings that brought him to his current situation. He yanked at the officer who held his collar, but the man's grip was too tight to slip away from.

"Please, believe me. I ain't mad. My name is Tobias Ragg and I work for a Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd. I saw Mr. Todd murder a customer with my own eyes."

The officer, a very broad man, let loose a rumble of laugher. "Of course 'e did lad. Why would Mr. Todd want paying patrons in his shop anyway? Good turn he did disposing of a few discourteous disturbers."

Before Toby could implore once again that he was not lying, the man opened a heavy iron door and tossed the boy inside. Toby caught his footing in time to keep himself from tumbling across the floor. The door was closed just behind, and as the boy turned about all he met was darkness. He felt his body shake with a combination of betrayal and fear. Despite what Mrs. Lovett had done, Toby could see that she was utterly aggrieved at sending him away. Her infatuation with Mr. Todd was keeping her wits at bay, and despite the wrong she'd done Toby did not wish anything ill to happen to her. Yet one thing was certain. He needed to get out of that place.


	28. XXVIII

**-XXVIII-**

With the carriage concealed just beyond the bridge, Clara stepped toward the large wooden door of Fogg's Insane Asylum. Despite her resent confusion, she would not stand by again and watch another innocent life be destroyed. She needed to liberate poor Toby from the dreadful place as soon as possible. Hopefully Anthony had freed Johanna and Mrs. Barker, but if such a fortune had already occurred security would be far tighter, making her task all the more difficult. Oddly enough, Clara didn't find herself to be so afraid anymore. As Mr. and Mrs. Barker's fate crossed her mind, and then the years of freedom robbed from dear Johanna Clara could summon her courage. If such misfortune could have befallen such temperate, innocent gentility than Clara believed she could find it in herself to rescue a boy from a mad house. Clara pounded on the door. A slit in the wood slid open to reveal two beady eyes.

"Who's there?"

"Madam Javari of Fore-street calling my good sir. I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding involving one of my servant boys. Allow me inside at once."

The man raised one weathered brow and then snapped the slit shut. At first Clara was afraid the man would not consider her story, but to her relief the door swung open. She stepped inside with a feinted confidence, and attempted to force a contemptible air in her aura. The man offered her an unreadable smirk.

"Now, Madam, who is this boy you seek?"

Clara snorted. "His name is Tobias, and he had been falsely accused of lunacy. I don't understand how a bright lad like my servant could have possibly been mistaken for a lunatic, but I suppose people are easily fooled in these matters. Nevertheless, my husband is due to open shop tomorrow and he cannot do without all of his lads present. You must understand the boy was under my charge, and therefore he is my responsibility."

Clara figured she had said enough, and just as well for she'd run out of things to say. She stood haughtily with her hands on her hips, waiting for the man to absorb all she'd told him. Finally, he cocked his head with a suspicious expression.

"This isn't that boy that was just brought in? If so we have a reliable source that assures his instability."

Clara forced herself to remain calm as a few ideas flipped through her mind. She quickly decided on the most logical.

"Perhaps you can show me this lad and I can tell you whether or not he belongs to me."

The man chewed this over, and after what seemed like an eternity he nodded his head.

"Alright then, follow closely."

* * *

Johanna shivered in the darkness. Her mother had not returned to her, instead she was burrowed behind a group of lunatics, humming softly. Every moment Johanna spared a look at the frightening, hunched woman she felt anxious waves of panic roll through her. She couldn't quite explain the sensation. She held the locket tightly in her hands, surprised at how much comfort the trinket gave her.

Suddenly, Johanna heard a commotion at the door. The women around her began to scurry about in excited dread as the slab of iron eased open. Following a rapid instinct, Johanna fastened the locket about her neck and tucked it beneath the soiled cloth of her straightjacket. A massive, beast of a man swaggered into the cell with a hideous smile. Johanna looked away to avoid hounding by the cad, for she was not ignorant enough not to know what happened to the woman who were taken from the cells during the night. However, the man was there on business it seemed. He grasped women roughly to secure the restraints of those considered dangerous. Johanna was still unsure how she had been listed under this category. The man latched a meaty hand about her arm and pulled her to her feet. Johanna recoiled as the smell of his breath seemed to smack her in the face.

"We got a guest today, darlin'. If your lucky maybe 'e'l like the look a you."

Johanna felt horribly vulnerable as her arms were pinned around her. The man held her for a moment by her shoulders before tossing her back on the filthy cot. After a moment the man departed, leaving the room in silence once again. Well, as silent as possible in a mad house. Johanna had already been there long enough to consider the constant murmuring and eerie tunes a commonplace. She strained to hear voices approaching from down the passage. When the voice came closer, Johanna recognized it to be Mr. Fogg's himself.

"Brunettes…redheads…"

Mr. Fogg approached the cell, and although Johanna could see the hideous little man quite clearly through the barred window his companion remained a mystery to her. Mr. Fogg glanced behind him.

"I keep the blonds in here. It was yellow hair you were looking for, wasn't it?"

Johanna swallowed audibly, and kept her gaze fixed to the floor. She heard the door open and subsequently flurries of movement from the nervous insanities shuffling about anxiously. A few bumped into her but Johanna remained unmoved. Mr. Fogg was a cruel man who allowed the exploitation of his female patients, and Johanna despised him with a passion. To her despair she noticed Mr. Fogg pause directly in front of her.

"I think you'll find this one here to be of excellent quality." Johanna flinched as Mr. Fogg ran his fingers through her hair. "What do you think sir?"

At this Johanna lifted her head. Her heart soared when she met the familiar warm eyes of her dear friend Anthony. The young man's face was frozen in distain at Mr. Fogg's treatment of Johanna, and not a moment passed before he had a pistol leveled between Mr. Fogg's eyes.

"Not another word Mr. Fogg or it will be your last." Anthony kept his pistol aimed as he placed a hand on Johanna's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Johanna nodded mutely, unable to conjure the words to support the undeniable contrary. Anthony lifted her to her feet and slowly began to step toward the open door. As he stepped back Johanna could hear his voice in her ear.

"Johanna, a friend of yours implored me to assist a beggar woman as well, do you know who she refers to?"

Johanna turned toward the woman concealing herself in the corner of the cell, and motioned toward her.

"Her Anthony. We have to help this woman escape."

Anthony nodded, and Johanna leaned toward her mother projecting as much kindness as she could manage. Anthony reached about to grasp the woman securely by the arm.

"Come along mum, we'll get you out of here."

Her mother struggled for a moment, but some unheard voice seemed to convince her otherwise. She slipped through the door with the agility of a younger woman and began to step carefully through the passage. Anthony remained preoccupied with Mr. Fogg, who was still standing inert just beneath the window.

"Now Mr. Fogg, I leave you to the mercy of your…children."

The measure of disgust in Anthony's voice proved there'd been an exchange between the two that Johanna hadn't heard. As Anthony helped her out of the cell Johanna cringed as furious screams scraped through the hall like tolling bells of death. She couldn't bear to hear it, and picked up her pace as Anthony pulled her closer to him. Johanna drew a shuddering breath, and attempted to convince herself that everything was alright now. She was with Anthony, and soon she and her mother would be safely free of this place. Despite this assurance, there was a sinking sensation of dread that settled within the pit of her stomach, and no matter how hard she tried she could not banish it.


	29. XXIX

**-XXIX-**

Toby pounded on the door relentlessly until his knuckles were wet with blood. He stepped away from the door for a moment, chest heaving in anxious anger. He thought perhaps he could make enough noise that someone would come and he could convince them of the great mistake. However, in the back of his mind Toby was well aware that the cads already knew. He suspected they realized he was not out of his mind, and yet still they kept him here. What was the purpose of that? Toby was growing more frustrated by the moment, and soon he began to kick the door as hard as he could. It was that satisfying echo that finally brought someone along.

"Cease that noise at once, you little wretch!" Came a harsh voice from behind the door.

"I am not crazy, and I want to speak to someone who will listen!" Toby shouted.

"Keep still and close your mouth. If I hear one more noise out of you it'll be a beating."

Toby allowed a moment of silence to go by, and then with a brave counter he smashed the door once again with the toe of his shoe. In an instant the metal door flew open, revealing a man much larger than Toby had expected. His face was bent in a scowling anger, and he wasted no time in throwing a large fist against Toby's jaw. The boy tumbled backward, but kept to his feet.

"You have a great need to die, boy?" The man inquired as he slammed another fist into Toby's ribcage.

Toby couldn't draw a breath to answer, if he was indeed going to, and pitched sideways as the man brought a knee to his stomach. Toby's attacker grasped him by the back of the neck and shoved him into the brick wall. Toby hardly had the time to spin about to avoid cracking his skull on the rock. For a moment he laid there, gasping to replenish the air in his lungs, and stared up at the massive man. With a scoff, the guard turned and started for the door. Toby's eyes were determined as he focused on the opening. He was not going to be locked inside again. As quickly as he could, Toby positioned himself behind the unaware man and used the momentum of his movement to strike the cad behind the legs. The man came down, and Toby shoved him with a shoulder to force him to the left. As the ground vibrated with the impact of his collapse, Toby grasped the heavy door and heaved it closed before dashing off down the dimly lit passageway. His pulse was pounding, and he knew if he didn't get out of there quickly that he'd doubtlessly live to see the sunrise. With desperate breaths Toby weaved up and down the halls, desperation encouraging his speed.

* * *

Although Clara had been warned to stay close to her guide, she decided she'd take her chances and offer the gentleman a wide berth. He smelt as though he spent his nights soaking himself in sewage. Each cell Clara passed she peeked within in attempt to catch a glimpse of Toby. She was very sure the man had no intention of showing her to the boy recently brought in. There was something strange going on, and she hadn't a clue as to what it was. She was about to tap the man on the shoulder to inquire as to precisely when they'd be reaching their destination, but she hadn't the time. Just as they were about to round the corner, a familiar boy sped about the bend and slid to an astonished stop just in front of them.

Clara's mouth fell ajar as Toby began to back away, uncertain of how he should progress. Unfortunately, it was the guard who recovered first.

"What do you think you're doing out of your cell?" The man snarled as he lunged forward.

Toby stepped out of his reach. "I've told you repeatedly that I am not mad."

Clara gripped the man by the shirt, her previous story forgotten. "This boy does not belong here sir, and if you don't release him at once I'll be forced to call the authorities."

"Your 'authorities' brought him here in the first place love." The man said as he latched a hand about her wrist. "And I don't believe I was asking for opinions on the situation."

Clara cried out as the man pushed her away, focusing instead on catching Toby. Clara landed softly in a heap, and turned to glare at the man with an angry gaze. She'd be damned if she was going to let one more person push her about. She got to her feet just as the man grasped a hold of Toby's collar. Unsure of how to progress, Clara simply followed her own instinct. She screamed.

"Oh my God!" She forced terrified panic into her high-pitched voice, as though the devil himself was approaching to cart the three of them to hell.

The man turned about, his eyes wide in fearful surprise, and Clara took this opportunity. She lashed out with a hard fist to his chin, and felt the impact shudder all the way up her arm. She hoped her attack hurt the man more than it did her, for she felt as though she shattered every bone in her hand. However, she was far too intoxicated with adrenaline to stop there.

"A hand here lad." She grunted as she threw all her weight into the petrified guard.

Toby obeyed, adding his own strength to hers and shoving the man the rest of the way into an open cell. As the cad collapsed, Clara patted his pockets until she found his keys, and quickly looped them about her fingers. The strike was not enough to shake the man by any stretch, although his surprise offered the few vital seconds Clara and Toby needed to escape. They both heaved the door closed and Clara turned the key to lock the door tight.

"Are you alright Toby?" Clara asked in a huff as the two of them began to sprint down the hall.

Toby's eyes were wide in confusion. "Yes mum, I…I don't know what to say."

"Keep it that way then." Clara glanced at the boy and smiled warmly. "Save the air for your lungs."

Toby grinned. "Yes mum."


	30. XXX

**-XXX-**

Sweeney Todd sat in his chair, idly polishing his razor until it gleamed. The Judge was on his way, of this Todd was certain, and he was ready for him. He caught his reflection in the blade, and he scowled. He didn't realize what deep angry furrows his brows cut through his skin. He supposed the rage that was incapable of being contained inside needed to channel itself somewhere. Every day brought more and more untamable, unbearable fury that Todd could hardly stand it. However, he preferred to feel rage as appose to the terrifying sorrow buried just beneath it. All of a sudden, Mrs. Lovett threw open the door, quite out of breath.

"Mr. T. You better get down 'ere quick. The beadle's poking his nose about the shop and he's insistin' on looking at the bake-house."

Todd rose up in one smooth movement and strode past Mrs. Lovett with a mask of emotionless indifference. Mrs. Lovett offered him a quick glance as he pushed by her, and then followed him as he stepped down the staircase.

"And the Judge?" Sweeney Todd asked quietly.

"Nothing yet Mr. Todd." Mrs. Lovett said rather apologetically. "We've got bigger problems right now. 'ow are you going to get rid of the beadle?"

Todd felt a flicker of a smile play across his lips as he considered. He'd been preparing for the Judge all evening, and yet he could not possibly forgo the debt he owed to Beadle Bamford. He ran a thumb along the edge of his blade before slipping it into his belt. Mrs. Lovett hovered by his shoulder, and then offered a knowing grin.

"What are you thinkin', Mr. Todd?" Her tone was rhetorical, and she seemed rather amused by the entire situation.

Todd focused on Mrs. Lovett for a moment. There was no denying she was pretty, but she was the shrewdest woman Sweeney Todd had ever been in the acquaintance of. She met his gaze, and her smile intensified a fraction. Suddenly an identity behind Mrs. Lovett caught Todd's attention, and his eyes turned cold as they locked themselves on the Beadle. Mrs. Lovett offered a confused expression and turned about just as the Beadle opened the shop door. Mrs. Lovett gasped and her hand snapped to her chest in a quick shock. She sobered immediately, irritated at her reaction.

"Oh sir, beg pardon. You gave me a fright."

The Beadle tipped his hat. "Not my intention madam." The Beadle brushed a spot of dust off his sleeve before continuing. "I am afraid, however, that I am here on official business. There've been some complaints about the stench coming out of your chimney. At night, especially, it is said to be particularly foul. To fulfill my duty I will have to inspect your bake-house."

By God, the man was detestable. He rattled off a loud cough and then a revolting snort before stepping in the direction he'd spoken. Mrs. Lovett stepped coolly in front of the Beadle, her face showing not a trace of suspicion and all pleasant neighborly behavior.

"Of course you'd be wantin' to take a look sir, only natural if folks have been complaining. But why not let Mr. Todd pamper you a wee bit first, seems to me that you could use a little sprucing up, if you don't mind my saying so."

The Beadle was taken aback by Mrs. Lovett's statement, and turned toward Todd quizzically. Sweeney Todd forced a smile on his face and placed a hand on the portly man's shoulder.

"An excellent suggestion, I would be most honored if you'd accompany me upstairs sir."

The Beadle was in obvious conflict with his own wishes against his obligations. His doubt was apparent, but he hesitantly opted for the second.

"As much as I appreciate your offer, Mr. Todd, I really must see to my official obligations first."

Todd nodded, feeling revolted by the continued contact. "I completely understand. However, I'm afraid I've noticed the current aroma you are sporting does not quite fit a man of your standing. Permit me to offer you something a slight more appropriate. I'm sure the ladies will greatly appreciate it, sir."

When the doubt was still evident Mrs. Lovett leaned toward him with a pleasant grin, plainly concealing her intuitive knowledge.

"The ladies will." She agreed in a voice slightly lower than she'd first spoken.

It was Mrs. Lovett's final push that caused the Beadle to finally relent, and his decaying smile revealed itself as he started up the stairwell.

"Well, you are the expert on these matters."

Sweeney Todd exchanged a glance with Mrs. Lovett, and she offered a delighted little wink before stepping into the shop. Todd turned and slowly followed the Beadle up the steps, his hand unconsciously resting on his presently inanimate razor.


	31. XXXI

**-XXXI-**

Johanna was unsure whether she felt exhilarated or terrified at the prospect of dashing through the streets in the dead of night. Perhaps it was a combination of the two. She took comfort in Anthony's warm hand about hers as she ran. She glanced sidelong and noticed with relief that her mother was running along with them, although her movement was more of a childish skip than anything. Anthony turned off into an alley sharply, and began to search for something.

"What are you doing?" Johanna asked quietly.

"You can't escape dressed as you are, you'll be discovered. Especially once word of the escape gets out."

Johanna nodded, understanding immediately. She took the boy clothes Anthony handed her, and felt her cheeks blaze with embarrassment as she changed into them. Anthony kept his gaze focused on the street, not even stealing a peek at her as she slipped into the unfamiliar clothing, however that act of propriety did not make her feel any less uncomfortable. When she was finished, she tapped Anthony on the shoulder. He turned and grinned at her.

"Perfect. Now we must hurry."

Anthony gently guided Johanna out of the alley. "Where are we going?"

"To the shop managed by a very good friend of mine. In Fleet Street."

Johanna was feeling rather nervous, and not because of the recent ordeal. Something inside was nagging at her, and yet it did not inform her of any dangers, nor did it provide reasoning behind the feeling. She'd released Anthony's hand so that she could run more easily, and immediately she glanced in all directions in search of the beggar woman. She did not see her at once, but as they progressed up the street Johanna vowed to locate her once they were in possession of a carriage.

* * *

"It really is a satisfying business, upholding the regulations dictated by the law."

Sweeney Todd slid his razor across the strap to sharpen it, while Beadle Bamford sauntered about the room. Todd cleared his throat.

"Is that so?"

The Beadle paused and placed a hand on the chair. "You cannot imagine, being a simple barber of limited means, of the treachery that goes on in this city."

"Being a simple barber, I suppose I cannot."

"Criminals occupy our streets in droves, Mr. Todd. There doesn't seem to be enough cells to contain them. Which is why, and I heartily agree with him, the honorable Judge Turpin decided on ordering a higher rate of execution. Thieves and beggars will not steal if they realize they may end their days with a hanging."

Todd was weary of this chatting. "Have a seat sir."

The Beadle glanced at him, and smiled. "But of course."

Todd grasped the Beadle's hat and cane when he offered them, and turned his back to place them on the trunk. He suddenly heard a suspicious gasp from behind him.

"This woman…I've seen her before."

Sweeney Todd turned, his eyes devoid of all emotion as he stared at the Beadle. The latter was transfixed on the photo of Lucy and Johanna on the breakfront.

"I would imagine you have." Todd's voice was calm and unthreatening.

The Beadle spun, his eyes wide in surprise as he stepped toward Todd. He raised a hand and pointed a finger in his direction.

"It cannot be you." The Beadle dropped his hand. "It cannot be."

"I assure you, Beadle Bamford, my comprehension of the measure of this city's treachery is sufficient."

Sweeney Todd slashed his blade across the Beadle's throat, and the man's bewildered expression remained frozen on his face. The strength of the blow caused the Beadle to stagger backward and collapse heavily into the chair. Todd strode about the chair as blood squirted from the Beadle's wound, and casually pressed a foot against the lever on the floor. The trap door snapped open, and the chair extended. Todd watched with a half-smile as the Beadle's body crashed into the stone floor below. With deliberate movements, Todd tossed the deceased fellow's cane and hat in after him, and then let the door clamp shut. As he stood there, immersing himself in the satisfaction that particular death brought him, he wondered about Toby. Perhaps the mongrel did not seek out the Judge as ordered, and now, with blood so fresh on his hands, Todd wanted to slide his blade through the Judge all the more.

He threw open the door and stepped briskly down the stairs. Mrs. Lovett was not in sight, and so Todd expected she was readying herself for bed. He strode into the shop and shut the door loudly behind him. There was not a need for him to call out to her. Mrs. Lovett was wearing the same frock she'd been wearing before, although it appeared a tad dustier.

"Ah, Mr. Todd." She strode toward him, fixing her disheveled hair unconsciously. "Taken care of business 'ave you?"

"Has the boy returned?" Todd asked frigidly.

Mrs. Lovett hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged.

"I 'aven't seen 'im, Mr. T. If he did come back, he may have gone down to the bake house. I'll check and see."

"No." Todd turned and started for the door. "I'll go. The Judge will be here soon, and when he comes send him upstairs."

Mrs. Lovett nodded. "Check quickly Mr. Todd. I've gotta get the pies in the oven for the morning rush."

Sweeney Todd left the shop and descended the stairs to the bake house. If Toby was there, it was logical that he'd seen the Beadle's body. Todd lifted the razor from his belt and slowly entered the oven room.


	32. XXXII

**-XXXII-**

Johanna's legs ached as she forced herself up the steps to Mr. Todd's barber shop. Her eye quickly caught the striped pole that indicated the barber's profession to those glancing from the street. She absently wondered how Anthony had become so well aquatinted with the barber.

"Mr. Todd! Mr. Todd!" Anthony threw open the shop door and burst inside.

Johanna followed just afterward, and glanced around the room only to see it unoccupied. Her head felt itchy due to the hat that concealed her long blond hair, but Anthony had insisted it was important that she keep it on. Anthony turned and grasped her by the shoulders, his face warm and comforting.

"Wait here. Mr. Todd should be back any minute. Once I return with the coach we will be free of this place forever." Anthony must have seen the sadness in Johanna's eyes, because he gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. "There's no need to worry anymore Johanna; you're safe now."

Johanna kept the tears at bay. Why was she feeling this way? Wasn't she happy? She should be unyieldingly grateful for what had just happened. She would be free from Judge Turpin forever now, and she could start a new life with the handsome young man who stood before her. Yet even in his presence she did not feel safe. It could have been the inevitable danger that the Judge would hunt them down without mercy, and if they were caught Anthony would surely be killed. There would be no peace for her while that vile man still lived. Or perhaps it was the knowledge of her sick mother that brought on this sensation, or the fact that she hadn't any idea of where her father was or what happened to him.

"Safe?" She spoke almost to herself. "So we'll run away and all our dreams will come true?"

Anthony smiled with a childish naivety. "I hope so."

Johanna forced a small smile. "I'm afraid I've never had dreams." She thought back to the nights she suffered at the Judge's home. "Only nightmares."

"Johanna, once we escape this place all the ghosts will go away."

Johanna looked about the room, and wondered why it made her heart hurt so terribly. She glanced back into the warm eyes of her rescuer.

"No Anthony, they never go away."

Suddenly Anthony drew her close, and embraced her tightly. Johanna closed her eyes, and two trails of tears leaked through her reserve and down her cheeks. She held him tightly to her, but she knew the comfort could not last. Anthony stepped back.

"I'll return with the coach in less than half an hour, and then we'll be free."

Johanna watched Anthony leave the room, and suddenly she felt very alone. It was a different feeling than she'd experienced for those long years locked away in the manor, as well as the isolation in the mad house. It was a fleeting tremor of confusion, as though something inside her was screaming but she could not comprehend its meaning. She stepped toward the barber's chair, and laid her hand on the cool leather. She took a deep breath and then exhaled to calm herself, and thought about the wonderful places she would go once she was free of this place. She glanced through the wide window, and then looked toward the table where she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She had to admit that she did strongly resemble a boy in the baggy jacket and hat.

Then a glimmer caught her eye, and she stepped toward it. Six enchanting silver razors lay at rest in a box, and carefully Johanna reached for one. She lifted the silver, testing its weight and felt surprised at how heavy it was. Slowly she flipped the blade partially open, and touched the smooth edge with a finger. As she began to study the intricate designs on the handle, she inhaled sharply as the blade pierced her skin. It was a tiny cut, but enough to draw blood and Johanna felt herself momentarily distracted with the red bead on her finger. She glanced away, and suddenly her eyes caught a new glimpse so surprising that she forgot her trifling wound. She gently lowered the razor back to its place and reached for a frame. She lifted it, and studied the pictures with widened eyes.

The woman in the picture had a warmness about her that Johanna had memorized while locked away in the asylum. It was the same woman in her locket. She was holding a baby, and Johanna immediately deducted that the little child must be her. As she held the picture in her hands, she began to wonder why the barber had a picture of her and her mother in his shop. With the unpredictability of a lightning flash, the realization hit Johanna like a strike across the face. Could it be…?

"Mr. Todd? Where are you?"

Johanna gasped and set the picture back down on the table. The gruff voice from outside could only be one. The Judge. She heard the footsteps grow louder as Judge Turpin ascended the stairs. She searched franticly about the room for a place to hide. There was only one prospect open to her, and she rushed to the chest tucked in the corner of the room and climbed inside. The door to the barber shop opened just as Johanna closed the lid.

"Mr. Todd?"

There was no answer save deadly silence, and Johanna held her breath to keep from disturbing it lest he hear her. The trunk was dark, and yet Johanna kept her eyes shut tight, begging that he didn't search the room. It didn't occur to her then that he would have no reason to sift through Mr. Todd's belongings, yet as it stood she was terrified at being discovered. The Judge stepped forward, and the boards beneath him squeaked painfully. Johanna squeezed her hands together and exhaled shakily into her fists. Suddenly, a new presence entered the room.

"Good evening sir." The voice was deeply masculine, but unfamiliar.

"Where is she?" The Judge questioned.

"Below. With my neighbor." The voice replied. "You'll be pleased to know your lesson was well learned. She speaks only of you; longing for forgiveness."

There was a pause, before which Judge Turpin replied, "Then she shall have it. She will be here soon, then?"

"Yes."

"Excellent." The Judge spoke excitedly.

There was a final moment of silence. Suddenly the voice spoke again.

"How about a shave?"

* * *

Sweeney Todd guided the Judge to the barber's chair, an uncharacteristically wide smile radiating from his sinister face. The anticipation was far too much to bear, and yet Todd suffered through the patient slowness of his movements. He grasped a smock and watched it flutter through the air and encircle about the Judge's unprotected throat.

"Oh Johanna, how I've missed her." The Judge's tones were low and thick with desire.

"As she has you, I'm sure sir." Todd felt his fingers wrap about the handle of his razor.

Todd gazed out the window, and lifted the blade to catch the glint of the moon. This time, he would not wait. This time, he would kill the Judge neither without duration nor without mercy. Every ounce of blood he had shed to fulfill his revenge was meaningless now. All that mattered was murdering the man who defiled and murdered his wife. The man who adopted Johanna- his daughter; his little girl -and planned to commit the very same crime against her as he had to her mother. Turpin destroyed his family and his life, and finally Todd would execute his retribution. Todd was so interwoven in his own twisted illusions at first he didn't notice the Judge speak.

"How rare it is to meet a fellow spirit, a man with the same appreciation for exquisite beauty."

Todd brought the blade down, and he could not take his eyes of it. "With the fellow taste…in women, at least."

The Judge didn't follow. "What's that?"

Todd smiled again. "The years no doubt have changed me, sir. But I suppose the face of a barber- a prisoner, on a dock- is not particularly memorable."

At these words, the Judge's gaze snapped to the man towering above him. Sweeney Todd felt more glorious satisfaction as he watched the Judge's eyes widen in absolute horror.

"Benjamin Barker?"

Todd lifted the blade, his anger unleashed. "Benjamin Barker!"

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Hello there. I just wanted to take the time to thank all of those who've left me reviews on this story. It gives my confidence a good boost when I see that people are actually reading it and take the time to leave comments. I'd like to send out a special thank you to **sweeneytoddlupin **for rekindling my motivation to keep posting. Thanks a bunch^^

On with the story.


	33. XXXIII

**-XXXIII-**

The carriage was gone when Clara returned, which was just as well. She wouldn't have the courage to return it to the spot she'd stolen it from anyway. Yet, such a situation warranted a fair amount of walking back to the barber shop. During most of the journey, Toby chattered about all that had happened. He'd told Clara about Mrs. Lovett, and the horrible deed she committed against him. He also spoke of Mr. Todd, and to what extent the brooding man terrified him. Clara listened to the boy with interest in everything he had to say. Why would Mrs. Lovett have done such a thing? There must have been a reason. However, Clara hadn't the strength to think about it at present. It was when Toby admitted to Mr. Barker being a murderer that her vow of silence abruptly ended. It was this topic that Clara could not ignore.

"He gave me a letter to deliver to the Judge, and upon my return I looked through 'is shop window and saw him slit a man's throat right there in front of me. I don't think he saw me, but I took off down the steps to warn Mrs. Lovett and that's when she sent me away."

Clara felt her pulse quicken. "Does she know of this killing?"

Toby nodded. "I told her myself, and she acted though she believed at first."

Clara felt a sickening feeling gather inside her, and immediately she quickened the pace. Something very strange was happening and Clara feared that Johanna and Anthony might put themselves in danger. Clara and Toby stopped as they reached the shop, and Toby obviously desired to turn about and head in the opposite direction. Clara placed a hand on Toby's shoulder.

"There's no reason you have to stay Toby. You're free to do what you will."

"With respect mum, I'd rather be here to help you should you need it."

"Brave lad." Clara smiled and turned toward the shop.

The only movement in the darkened street was the figure of Mrs. Lovett heading from the pie shop to the back house downstairs. Clara and Toby moved forward for a closer look. There was no sign of Anthony or Johanna, and so Clara assumed they had not yet arrived. She was about to ask Toby to shift down to a better lookout position, when her eyes caught something moving up the stairs to Mr. Barker's shop. She froze, and realized with a jolt of both relief and apprehension that the cloaked figure was Mrs. Barker. She glanced down at Toby, and lowered her voice.

"Stay here."

Clara rose up and rushed forward; not daring to call out until she reached the stairwell.

* * *

All of a sudden the door to his shop flew open. Todd was momentarily stunned as a woman dressed in rags stumbled through the door cackling to herself as though under the possession of some vengeful demon. The Judge recovered quicker, and leapt out of the chair to grasp Todd's extended arm. The Judge's weight caused them both to collide into the angular window. The Judge's face was not expressing fear or desperation; rather he was angered that this manifestation from the past dared appear again. Todd, alternatively, kept his face neutral, despite the raging fire of limitless hatred that consumed him.

"Why did you come back Barker?" The Judge snarled as he slammed the barber against the wall.

Todd was younger and stronger than the Judge, and yet the angle he was pinned denied any hope of gathering the strength it would take to sway him. Todd could feel the Judge bringing his own hand toward his throat, until the cold blade he held touched his neck. The Judge's eyes were demonic, and yet Todd had yet to feel uncertainty toward the Judge's fate.

"I should have ordered your execution." The Judge growled. "Spared this ridiculous reunion. Why did you return?" During this, the woman had remained as still as a statue. Suddenly without reason she began to speak quietly.

"You…"

She began shrieking this one phrase and then lunged at the two men engaged in their struggle. Using the woman as a distraction Todd slipped out of the Judge's grasp. Before the Judge could react to his movement, Todd swiped his blade downward and caught the Judge in a glancing blow across the neck. The Judge snarled like an animal as his hand snapped to the wound. Todd backed away to give himself the leverage it would take to kill the man, when someone grasped him tightly around the arm. Todd spared a gaze at the filthy woman who had latched herself to him. She looked up, and the lamplight from outside illuminated her features.

"Don't I know you…mister?" This time, strangely, there was no hint of madness in her voice.

Todd offered the woman nothing but a cold glare of hardhearted irritation.

_ Enough._

With hardly an exertion Sweeney Todd flicked his blade across the meddlesome woman's throat, and her expression was frozen in a bewildered mask of misapprehension. Todd kept his eyes on the suddenly quiet woman as he slammed his foot on the lever concealed in the chair. The woman disappeared from sight as the trap door snapped open. Subconsciously, Todd could hear a terrified scream echo through the shop. He allowed himself to turn in the direction of the noise, and was only mildly surprised to see a woman standing there, a hand over her mouth in an expression of absolute horror. The white-faced woman didn't stay any longer. She turned and madly sprinted down the steps. She was likely rushing to the authorities to stop the cold-blooded murder. Todd glanced toward the Judge, who was still hunched over and bleeding. Todd grinned without emotion. They would be too late.

"Why did I return?"

Todd grasped the Judge by the shoulder and forced him backward, causing him to land heavily into the barber's chair. He studied the pitiful man below him for a moment before once again raising his blade. His face was cold and emotionless, and perhaps even more terrifying than if he'd demonstrated any rage on his features.

"To kill you."

Sweeney Todd filled himself with his blinding, fanatical hatred. He finally released the abhorrence he'd contained inside him for so many years. He watched his blade slash through the Judge throat, spraying crimson blood in all directions. Again and again Todd hacked his razor through the Judge, not pausing even a moment. He was trapped within a terrifying desperation to keep slicing through the man until his hatred died. His face grew wet as the Judge's blood dripped down his cheeks and soaked into his shirt.

Finally, he stopped. He stood there, blankly staring at the man who'd destroyed his life. He watched more blood trickle down the Judge's throat with each fading heartbeat. Todd felt frozen, and yet he managed to press down on the lever to watch the Judge's body vanish through the trap door. The blood that was not his own felt sticky against his face. Although his satisfaction at completing the deed was immeasurable, he found the Judge's death did not erase the sorrow that remained enclosed within his soul. The fear and pain were still present though the source had diminished. Todd gazed at the bloodied blade in his hand, and smiled faintly. His mind was weakened by the gruesome truth that no matter how many enemies he slew, the misery he felt in his heart would never diminish. Madness had buried its way into the recesses of his mind, and he was wildly anticipating the next victim he could plunge his blade into. Suddenly, he heard the softest noise from inside the shop and he slowly turned in its direction.


	34. XXXIV

**-XXXIV-**

She couldn't take it anymore. Johanna didn't know what was happening, and she'd heard so many strange things concealed within her hiding place. When silence had obviously settled over the room, Johanna took a shallow breath and lifted the lid. The confounded thing made a whining squeak as it lifted, and she felt her breath still in her lungs as her gaze was entranced by the figure standing just before the bloody barber's chair.

Johanna didn't move even as Mr. Sweeney Todd, his face stained and streaked with blood, held his killing tool to one side and started toward her. His movements were slow and deliberate, and yet Johanna could not react. Each hollow click of the killer's boots against the floor cast Johanna deeper and deeper into a stifling dread. Her eyes remained fixed on the blood dripping off the shining blade. A little gasp escaped her throat as Mr. Todd threw open the trunk. His smile was terrifyingly serene.

"Come for a shave, have you lad?" He spoke gutturally with a gentle lilt of amusement.

Johanna cowered in the chest, trembling from head to foot.

"No…I…"

Johanna found her words were stuck in her throat, and she was unable to summon the courage to react. The horrifying killer grasped her by the collar and lifted her from her concealment as though she weighed nothing, and roughly shoved her toward the chair in the centre of the room.

"Nonsense." He tossed her into the chair. "Everyone needs a good shave."

Pressed into the chair with no place to escape, Johanna's wide eyes stared up at the fiend before her. Her eyes lingered on the blade as he lifted it high above his head, preparing to sink it into her. Johanna was petrified, and bit her lip tightly in preparation for a gruesome death. She watched the razor hover over her, and wondered subconsciously why he was not proceeding with his horrible task.

"Wait…" The voice was hardly a whisper.

Johanna met the eyes of the killer, and felt herself chilled to the bone at the emptiness she saw there. There was not a trace of warmth inside his dark brown eyes. He reached toward her with a vacant expression, and Johanna made a pitiful little yelp of surprise when he touched a spot just below her neck. He brushed aside her collar, and his expression altered to one of disbelief. He lifted the locket hanging from her throat and simply held it in one bloody hand, transfixed. Johanna was still unsure of what he was attempting, and so she remained frozen to the spot. In a rapid motion Mr. Todd tore off Johanna's cap, and long tresses of golden curls fell about her shoulders. He stepped back shakily, as though something about her had suddenly terrified him.

"Johanna." He spoke her name with a strange sort of sorrowful gentleness that strongly contradicted his former gruff manner, and definitely not a voice befitting a murderer.

Johanna thought this to be an ample opportunity to attempt an escape while Mr. Todd was preoccupied with his thoughts. However, before she could move a piercing scream trilled through the air. Mr. Todd glanced in the direction of the door, and then his eyes snapped back to Johanna. He leaned forward, his face bent in a nightmarish scowl.

"Leave. Now. Forget my face."

With that order Mr. Todd departed with strong strides out the door. For a few moments Johanna remained exactly where she was, wringing her hands and breathing shallowly. Her body was shaking without mercy, and it was not simply because of the brush with death. It was because she realized why the man who'd nearly killed her looked so familiar. She recognized his face even though she'd never seen him before. Slowly, shakily, she reached for her locket, ignoring the blood smeared across its surface. She held her breath, begging to be mistaken even though in her mind she already knew.

She snapped the locket open and gazed inside. On one side lay her mother, smiling and happy. On the other...her father. Ice cold dread slowly engulfed Johanna as she studied his handsome face and warm, contended eyes. The connection was made in her mind, and as she became more convinced and the shock faded away, Johanna collapsed onto the floor and sobbed in absolute devastation and despair.

* * *

Clara's mind was captivated in a shocked state of panic. She nearly tripped down the steps as she dashed across them, throwing all of her weight into the large steel door to the bake house. She couldn't bear to remember what she'd witnessed just moments before, and tears of despair began to trickle down her cheeks. She couldn't be dead, and not by her husband's own hand. The situation had to be a misunderstanding. As Clara entered the tepid chamber, the smell of rotting stench struck her like a blow. She paused, grimacing in disgust in response to the perversion to her senses.

She glanced about, and finally her eyes fixed themselves on an inert body swathed in rags. Clara could not withstand allowing a disbelieving whimper to rise up into the gloom, and cupped her hand over her mouth in horror. Although in the back of her mind she did not believe the woman was alive, she rushed to the body in hopes she could do something to recover her. She dropped to her knees and laid her trembling hands on poor Mrs. Lucy Barker.

Before she could do anything for the woman, she glanced upward in reaction to a snapping sound above her. To her surprise a door slid open, and when she realized what was coming down she gasped. With as much strength as she could muster she heaved Mrs. Barker out of the path of the plummeting body. She watched with terror as Judge Turpin's body, stained in blood, crashed to the ground like a broken doll. At the sound of the sickening wet crack of a human skull smashing against stone, Clara lurched and ultimately stood up so that she could vomit suitably. Her desperate and sporadic inhalations hardly functioned around her tangible terror. She was acting on reflex now, for her mind appeared to have shut off to shield itself against further trauma. Keeping her eyes off Turpin's body, she instead gently removed Mrs. Barker's dirty bonnet. She gazed into the woman's face. Although marred by unhygienic practices and scraped with small welts and cuts, Lucy Barker remained remarkably beautiful. Hot tears fell from Clara's eyes and landed on Mrs. Barker's lifeless face.

"Who are you?"

Clara's head snapped up, and the glowering figure of Mrs. Lovett stared back at her. Clara didn't move, nor did she speak. Mrs. Lovett took a step closer, her hands on her hips in attempt to ensue greater intimidation. Clara was in far too much pain and shock to be frightened by the woman.

"What are you doin' in 'ere?" Mrs. Lovett demanded, taking yet another step closer.

Nothing was making any sense. Clara shook her head in a mournful sadness and glanced toward Mrs. Barker once again.

Clara heard Mrs. Lovett speak again; her voice hushed with astonishment. "It can't be…"

Clara gazed upward in perplexity, when suddenly Mrs. Lovett released a screech of surprise. Judge Turpin had managed, despite the gory mangling of his throat, to keep a grasp on his final threads of life. His hand locked itself about Mrs. Lovett's skirt, and she was in a fit of fury in attempt to release herself.

"Die! Damn you die!" Mrs. Lovett screamed angrily as she furiously tore her dress away.

Finally, the Judge rolled onto his back and stared upward with an empty gaze. During the ordeal, Clara had scooted herself backward into the shadows, terrified out of her mind. However that terror transformed into fearful dread as Mr. Barker burst into the bake house.


	35. XXXV

**-XXXV-**

Toby watched Miss Cartwright intently; attune of any kind of trouble. He didn't agree with her going near Mr. Todd's shop alone, but he was determined to follow her command and stayed put. However, he was ready to rush to assistance if the situation suddenly warranted it. First the old woman disappeared into the shop, and Miss Cartwright followed directly after moving briskly up the steps. Toby's hands were white-knuckled on the wall as he gazed on with apprehension. Miss Cartwright stopped just before the door, and to Toby's surprise the woman released a scream of horror at whatever she witnessed within.

Toby cowered against the stone wall, but he swallowed his fear and ran as fast as he could toward the shop. However, Miss Cartwright did not stay in place. She ran down the stairs as though the devil himself was hot on her heels, and perhaps he indeed was. Toby could think of no better title for the notorious Mr. Todd. Miss Cartwright disappeared out of sight, and Toby couldn't be certain of the path she'd taken. Toby opted for the shop, but just as he was about to dash after her, a figure striding out of the doorway of the pie shop caught his attention. He concealed himself beneath a table, and locked wide eyes on Mrs. Lovett as she casually wandered down the steps to the bake house. Toby bit his lip. He was terribly uncertain what to do. He was quite sure Miss Cartwright, after obviously falling witness to another of Mr. Todd's senseless murders, was probably putting as much distance between the barber shop and her as she could.

Toby was convinced she'd hidden in Mrs. Lovett's pie shop. There was no other logical place. He was definite that she would not be so frazzled to conceal herself in the oven room. Toby quickly and quietly skulked to the pie shop, and was wary as he pushed open the door despite the knowledge that Mrs. Lovett was downstairs. Toby took a careful step into the shop, and suddenly he heard the sound of footsteps against wood. Gasping back instant terror, Toby threw himself into the shop and dropped out of sight. He caught just the barest glimpse of Mr. Todd, stony faced as usual, moving faster than Toby had ever seen him. Even as the man disappeared Toby dared not move. He was utterly convinced Mr. Todd was a demon, and being such he would be more observant to subtle conditions.

He remained in that position for a few minutes until he finally gathered the courage to check if the fiend was indeed gone. It was difficult to see through the filth smearing the window, but Toby thought he could safely say the coast was clear. He rose up, and quickly scanned the kitchens.

"Miss Cartwright mum?" Toby called quietly. "Are you here?"

He tried again, and started for the living room. He didn't want Mr. Todd or Mrs. Lovett to hear his calls, lest he put himself and the lady in danger. He heard the sound of movement again outside the shop. Toby's reflexes didn't even have time to convince him to conceal himself before he saw a dark figure fly past the window and down the street. Toby took a shortcut, bursting through the customer entrance and rushing out into the dim lamplight. The figure running looked to be a woman, but he couldn't tell in the dark. He immediately believed it to be Miss Cartwright, for she was the only one of his observation to have been frightened into movement in the last quarter-hour. He didn't call out but took off after her though dismal darkness of Fleet Street, his feet clapping at the cobblestones as he ran.

* * *

Sweeney Todd quickly scanned about the room until his gaze landed on Mrs. Lovett. She looked incredibly distressed, which was very unlike her. She could alter the corpses he provided into succulent pies without hesitation. She was not a woman who was easily frazzled.

"Why did you scream?" Todd demanded, still on the lookout for anything amiss.

Mrs. Lovett laid a hand on her forehead as though she was recovering from a great shock. She glanced down at the Judge's body. "Nothin' Mr. Todd, 'e was clutch'n onto me dress but its finished now."

Sweeney Todd strode toward the two dead men who caused him so much despair. His expression was dark and his features were blank. He offered a sidelong glance at Mrs. Lovett.

"I'll take care of this. Open the oven." When Mrs. Lovett didn't budge he glared at her. "Now."

Mrs. Lovett was trembling but she obeyed Todd's command. Oblivious to the woman's lingering fright, Todd rolled up his bloody sleeves as he prepared to dispose of the Judge's body in the flames. As Mrs. Lovett pulled the oven door open, a golden glow settled over the two dead bodies. No…three. Todd glanced at the woman clothed in rags for a moment, and he found he could not tear his eyes away from her or her terrifyingly familiar yellow hair. A cold, unidentified dread clogged his veins with fear as he moved toward her, his eyes wide and unblinking. He reached toward her with a trembling hand and gently brushed her hair from out of her face. Even beneath the filth across her skin and the welts marring her porcelain complexion, she was still as beautiful as the last time Todd had seen her. He touched her cheek with a cold hand.

"'Don't I know you…'" Todd's voice was a whisper. "…she said." He didn't even look up as pain trickled into his voice. "You knew she lived?"

Mrs. Lovett sniffed back tears and then sighed. "I was only thinkin' of you. Honestly, what would it matter if you knew? She was weak in the head."

Todd finally blinked, and then he gazed up at her with an expression betraying every ounce of devastation he felt. "You lied to me."

Mrs. Lovett gasped and then stepped toward him very slowly. "No Mr. T. I didn't lie. Not really. I said she took the poison and she did. I never said she died."

Todd's eyes fell back to his wife's face; she looked so sad even in death. "Lucy…I've come home again." He touched her hair, and one tear broke through his restraint and trailed down his cheek. "…I've come home."

"Mr. Todd, please. Poor thing was a wreck; if she died she would've been better off. She should'a been in a hospital but she was taken to Bedlam instead. Her mind was lost Mr. T. I swear to you."

"What have I done?" Todd could hardly form the words.

He killed her. He'd killed the woman he loved; the woman who had been his reason for existing. His hands snapped away from her immobile body and for a moment he simply stared blankly at his own hands.

"Oh my god…"

"I didn't tell you Mr. Todd because I want you to be happy. It was better for you to think she was dead. I lied because…I love you." Mrs. Lovett continued to approach. "I love you Mr. T. I'd be twice the wife she was. We could get married and you could forget all the pain she caused you. Could that thing have cared for you like me?"

All of a sudden Sweeney Todd stood up and turned toward his accomplice. He was smiling. "You're absolutely right Mrs. Lovett. After all, there's little point in dwelling on the past now, isn't that right?"

Mrs. Lovett's eyes were wide in wary shock as she wisely stepped away from him. He didn't fault her for keeping away. He must have looked absolutely frightful in his current state. He could not decipher whether he was enraged or relieved. So many emotions were engulfing him at once that the frighteningly insane smile he wore seemed to be the only thing holding him together.

"Do you mean it Mr. Todd? I swear it was only for the best." Mrs. Lovett stammered.

"Of course, my love, there's nothing to fear." Todd reached out for the woman; still grinning fiendishly. "What's dead is dead."

The fear drained from Mrs. Lovett's expression and she relinquished her caution and surrendered to her curiously omnipresent affection. A hesitant smile danced across her lips as she accepted his gesture; placing her hands in the waiting palms of her neighbor.

"Does that mean we can still be married?" Her voice was light and happy. It seemed strange that her imagined adorations could be so strong as to blind her to the apparent fire of hatred in Todd's eyes. His fury attacked anything and everything. His control over his actions had been lost so very long ago but he was far too terrified to fight the dominating power now. Todd could do nothing to protect himself this time. The Judge did not kill his wife. Lucy had been alive. It was by his own hand that her life had been so horribly ended. Sweeney Todd began to laugh as he twirled Mrs. Lovett about the chamber. The noise was exceedingly strange as though it wasn't a laugh at all. And lacking any sentiments of amusement, indeed it was not.

"It seems the only progression from here is to learn forgiveness and try to forget. Don't you agree Mrs. Lovett?"

Mrs. Lovett closed her eyes and grinned in contentment. "Oh I do Mr. Todd. I do."

"Isn't life for the living? Why dwell on those who are dead?" The detestable noise of Todd's deranged laughter again echoed through the chamber, and an inhuman light sparkled within his dark irises.

"Yes Mr. Todd, you and me." Mrs. Lovett's delight shined off her face as she overlooked the devilish possession within Todd's horrible countenance.

Sweeney Todd grinned fiendishly. "Then let's keep living it!"

* * *

The two waltzed about the room with the delicate movements of twirling marionettes. The fire cast haunting shadows flickering over the desolate stone floor. As Clara looked on with petrified terror, she realized she had never before been so afraid. Mr. Barker's words and curiously celebratory behavior contradicted strongly with his devastated expression. He did not appear human at all.

She looked on with fearful horror as Mr. Barker and an ecstatic Mrs. Lovett danced with increasing imminence to the open oven. Despite her immense desire to escape, Clara could not tear her gaze from the twirling forms of Mr. Barker or his partner. As they approached the oven Clara's eyes widened and her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

Just as the pair neared the open flames the crazed Mr. Barker tossed Mrs. Lovett directly into the wild fire. A woman's scream ripped through the chamber and echoed off the wall in the most horrifying melody of shock and excruciation. It was at this point in the ordeal that Clara could not withstand. She dropped low, completely concealing herself in her hiding place as burning tears of terror stung her cheeks.

* * *

With gathering speed, Toby was nearing the woman that he was so desperate to catch up to. He had risked one curt call out to her, but the exclamation did nothing to slow the woman's flight. Of course, Toby was not at all surprised at Miss Cartwright's distrust. If she had witnessed one of Mr. Todd's dreadful murders she would not likely stop unless from utter exhaustion. Therefore Toby kept up the pace, waiting until she broke for a breather.

Suddenly, she darted into one of the alleyways, a flicker of shadow betraying her route. Toby heaved a breath and tore after her, following her path into the dank sub-street. Just as Toby made it around the corner he was forced to duck at an ill conceived attack that was made to dissuade his pursuit of her. It was also at this time that Toby realized the woman he'd been trailing was not Miss Cartwright at all, but a young woman dressed in a strange fashion. The weapon Toby had just narrowly dodged was a mop handle, and the attacker looked positively frightful.

"Mercy mum! Please!" Toby leapt out of the path of the weapon. "I'll not harm you. I swear!"

The young woman stared at him for a moment, and Toby was immediately stricken by the measure of despair in her countenance. She looked positively miserable. Through the pinched furrows of sadness Toby thought her face looked remarkably pretty, even from beneath the tears. During this observation Toby could see that something was very wrong with this poor girl. With a horribly mournful expression the woman let the unorthodox weapon fall from her grasp. By the way she swayed like a disturbed spirit Toby was feared the girl was about to faint. He reached forward to assist her.

"Mum…are you…?"

Faster than Toby deemed possible for a woman in such a state, she slashed at him with feral intensity.

"Don't!"

Toby leapt backward with an expression of shock. As he recovered from her surprise assault the woman decidedly dropped to her knees with a horribly pathetic cry. She completely ignored his presence as she began to sob uncontrollably. Toby was fairly uncertain how to commence. The strange woman was outpouring such a measure of fear and despair that Toby could not think of leaving such a person without doing all he could to assist. He slowly sunk to his knees and, thankfully, the woman didn't attack him again. In fact, she seemed to forget he was even there.

"Mum? You're very distraught it seems…and I know it's none of my business, but, may I ask what I can do?"

The woman looked up, cheeks streaked with tears. The devastation apparent on her face was enough to nearly spring tears in Toby's own eyes.

"Please leave me alone." Her voice was so very quiet Toby needed to strain to hear it.

Although in any other circumstance Toby would have obeyed the woman's wishes, he could not bear leave her alone in the alley. He didn't depart at once.

"I am very sorry mum, but I can't leave you here without offering an effort. My name is Toby Ragg and I would hope you could say what is troubling you."

The girl met his gaze once again and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She could barely speak. "Do you…do you know of a man who calls himself…Todd?"

An involuntary shiver of terror danced up Toby's spine. "I do. I used to work for him."

Then the girl finally acknowledged him. A new onslaught of tears flooded from her eyes.

"That…murderer…" Her voice shook with anguish. "…is my father."

Toby felt his blood run cold.


	36. XXXVI

**-XXXVI-**

Sweeney Todd watched in bleak indifference as the oven flames tore through Mrs. Lovett's skin, peeling it away from her face like charring parchment as the woman wailed a song of the pain she was doubtlessly enduring. Todd's former merriment had depleted back into his regular grim countenance. He heaved the heavy iron door and latched it closed; this action blocked out much of Mrs. Lovett's piercing noise. Todd spun without another glance behind, and felt his gaze settle on his wife's inert body.

The razor he still held hung loosely in his grasp as he slowly stepped forward. Each stride was harder to take than the next. Despite his dealing of Mrs. Lovett and her gruesome end, he suddenly experienced the onslaught of very human emotions that he could no longer restrain. He was alone in the chamber, and even if he was not there was no shame in mourning for one loved so implicitly. Todd lowered to his knees before his dear Lucy. He swallowed audibly. He didn't know if he could bear seeing the deadly gash across her throat; the wound which had ended her life. However, he was convinced that after all he had done, after all the deaths he'd ensured, he deserved to witness the implications of his murderous crimes. He reached out and pulled his dead wife toward him with barely restrained despair. He cradled her in his arms and settled his gaze on her calm face, and in doing so he sealed his own fate.

"It truly is detestable, what happened to us isn't it Lucy?" Todd's voice was hardly a whisper. He touched her cheek softly with a broken affection. "I don't even remember when we last saw each other."

Tears fought their way through Todd's restraint and cut down his cheeks. However, he didn't even note it. He was suddenly becoming brutally aware of all he had done. He felt an ironic smile flicker across his lips, though it held none of the malevolence as before and only limitless misery. He brushed a strand of golden hair from his wife's face.

"I saw our daughter. I saw Johanna." Todd took a shuddering breath. "She's beautiful…like her mother. Just as I suspected."

Todd felt the razor twitch in his grasp. He didn't look at the gleaming silver, rather, he refused to. Without his genuine consent, the blade began to ascend. As all of his emotions churned together without mercy, the only option open to him was to end the reign of the monster he'd become. In doing so he would also end his unbearable suffering. Almost in a trance Todd laid the blade against his own throat. The metal felt startlingly cold and yet, he did not react. Killing Sweeney Todd would be Benjamin Barker's very last achievement on this earth, but it would never separate him from the demon that had dominated him. It was not as though he hadn't known what he was doing at the time. It wasn't as though watching the life fade from every stranger he'd murdered made him regret, although he suspected each death destroyed what was left of Benjamin Barker, piece by piece. And why was he running so diligently from his former self? The answer was simple. It was Barker who felt pain, fear and sorrow. It was he and he alone who awakened such deep and unbearable emotion that Sweeney Todd could not endure.

He put pressure against the blade, and held his wife closely. As he prepared to drag the razor through his throat he halted only at the sound of a woman's belaying cry.

* * *

It was on that very night that Clara Cartwright learned the limit of her mortal endurance. For years she'd watched dear Johanna grow from an innocent child into a faultlessly beautiful woman, and although she enjoyed those years so very much, they still brought her great regret and taught her to despise her own weakness. Johanna had been a prisoner and Clara had done nothing to help her. Neither had she been able to help Benjamin Barker or his dear wife. She was caught up in a web of devastation that she could not escape. She realized now that there was nothing that could be done. It was over. Everything was over.

Learning that Johanna was Mr. Barker's daughter brought her little surprise. After all, the girl had so many accentuated attributes from her father, and her golden locks were identical to her mother's. Perhaps Clara had already conceived the connection, and yet she just wasn't willing to accept it. The outcome of the unfortunate family was all the more heartbreaking as Clara imagined what their life would have been like alternatively. Mr. and Mrs. Barker would have showered little Johanna with so much love and security that the girl would never have known sorrow or fear. She would have never been trapped in the affections of a detestable man who raped her mother and orchestrated the downfall of her father. Mr. Barker would have lived in peaceful contentment with his wife and daughter until his dying day.

Now, as Clara looked on, the measure of depression on Mr. Barker's pale, blood-streaked face was absolutely devastating. Only his physical appearance led to believe the broken man kneeling in the blood of his wife had once been Benjamin Barker. Clara could scarcely see through her tears as she fought to retain command of herself. It was in this fearful mode of observation that Clara noticed Mr. Barker lifting a blade to his slender neck. There was nothing she could do to stop herself. She leapt out of her hiding place and her despair spilled over in shout in hopes to dissuade his action.

Mr. Barker's head snapped up at the sound of her cry, and remained on her face for a few terrifying moments. Then he set his wife to the stone and rose to his full height, glowering at her with not sadness but fury. He took a step toward her, and yet Clara could not find the will to move. Mr. Barker's twisted visage looked as temperate as a soul-devouring demon as he came at her.

"Why?" There was no emotion in his deep voice.

Clara couldn't speak; couldn't move, she could do nothing but stare in dumb amazement at the sight of the devil himself nearing closer and closer. She wasn't even sure what he wanted her to answer. In response to her silence, Mr. Barker lunged at her with a crazed look in his eye. Clara gasped as he locked a hand around her throat and furiously forced her backward until her back struck the wall. The rough treatment caused the air to escape her lungs but there was nothing to be done to replenish them. Mr. Barker's grip was strong and impregnable, and Clara was sure he had a mind to strangle her then and there. However, before he did so she had to speak to him. She latched her own hands about his wrist but made no move to redirect his attack. She swallowed what air she could and used it to her advantage.

"Mr. Barker…please…listen…"

Her words seemed to have an effect on him, because he loosened his grip slightly. His face went blank for one moment, and at the next it had contorted into yet another horrible mask of rage. Clara released a small squeak as he pressed his blade into her throat.

"If you call me by that name again-"

"You can kill me in due course Mr. Barker; I am not afraid to die now after all the horrors I've seen. Yet before you end my life I must be allowed to speak." Every word was a painful endeavor due to the sharp metal biting into her neck, but Clara persevered. "You mustn't kill yourself in such a state, not like this. It would be dishonoring to your wife's memory."

Mr. Barker's face slackened in utter shock at her words, and, as Clara had expected, his anger returned in full force. He leaned in on her with just barely restrained rage as he forced the blade tighter into her throat. She inhaled sharply in pain. When Clara recovered and was able to glance up, Mr. Barker was so close she could smell the tangy scent of blood on his skin.

"How dare you speak of her?" He demanded through clenched teeth. "What makes you think you have any right to speak of matters to which you are ignorant?"

"I may be ignorant of your and Mrs. Barker's precise experiences, but I can plainly see the pain you face. I only advise to allow her passing to be painful, as it is supposed to be. Don't let this creature inside you be the end of your life. Mrs. Barker deserves more than that, as you do."

"Me?" Mr. Barker stepped back, easing only a small amount of pressure off Clara's throat. "And who exactly do you refer to when you address me?"

Clara allowed the tears to fall down her face. "I refer to a man who offered a poor wretch shelter and comfort when he could have easily turned her away. A man who loved his wife so very much and who conceived a beautiful child. I refer to you, Mr. Benjamin Barker."

The sound of the metal razor striking the ground would have made Clara jump however her terror had faded into something deep, and somehow detached. Her pity for the desperately irresolute man who finally began to show himself through a façade of sinister immorality surfaced and she could not allow weakness to show on her part. She remained against the wall as Mr. Barker collapsed to the ground, defeated and exhausted. Clara hesitated at first, but she fought through her nervousness. She dropped to the stone while Mr. Barker's chin remained bowed and his gaze lingered, focused on the ground. Clara sighed.

"The poor souls you murdered…Mrs. Lovett…perhaps they deserved to die for their own separate sins but it shouldn't have been you to kill them. I didn't know you very well Mr. Barker, but I knew enough to be certain of your integrity. I am so sorry about what happened to you and your family, but although you have lost your wife, your daughter is still alive."

Mr. Barker slowly raised his head, his expression emotionless once again. "Johanna? You know her?"

Clara nodded. "Yes, I was her governess. I watched her grow from a little girl into a clever and temperate young woman, and I truly appreciate the years I spent with her. But I was not enough." Clara took a large risk and placed a comforting hand on Mr. Barker's shoulder. "I lacked the strength to protect her, and I despised myself for it."

Mr. Barker was silent for many moments. Clara could not read any emotion on his face, although he seemed to be very deeply engaged in thought. Withdrawing her hand Clara took a deep breath, hardly noticing the revolting stench wafting inside the oven room. Finally Mr. Barker spoke.

"I don't even know her."

"I do hope that the love you felt for her so many years ago can somehow surface again, and this strange identity that consumes you may fade away. I pray that it will."

Clara stood and unintentionally gazed at the corpses strewn across the ground. Her doubt slowly consumed her. A man who so brutishly ended so many lives and who'd endured such unimaginable horrors could never become whole again. He would never be the kindhearted man he'd once been. Clara gazed down at Mr. Barker with a heavy heart.

"Perhaps there is no remedy for such a horrible circumstance, but that is not for me to say. I have faith in your daughter, and I know she will be alright. I care for you Mr. Barker, but I fear my advice to you is futile. Only you can find yourself again."

For a while Clara simply stood there before Mr. Barker. She was too frightened to move, and soon became too afraid to speak again. Yet it was not the thought of being so close to a dangerous man who just a moment ago threatened her life. Mr. Barker hadn't moved or spoken for so very long and Clara feared he would shatter if she made a sound. So she stood in utter silence, unable to hold her mournful tears at bay.


	37. XXXVII

**-XXXVII-**

Johanna was caught in such a fearful measure of fear and loathing that she could hardly breathe. She was so very scared and yet she had offered the entire despicable history to a perfect stranger. To his credit, the boy listened intently with sympathetic eyes and a very understanding expression. He didn't speak once during her entire tirade. She spoke of the Judge, and of how she abhorred him. She spoke also of the mad woman who, beneath her filthy rags and frighteningly insane mutterings, was her own mother. When she came to the portion of the tale that involved the fiend who was her father she broke down. She dropped her head into her hands and sobbed. To her surprise a comforting hand touched her arm. Her head snapped up and met the eyes of the boy called Toby.

"Your misfortunes are numerous indeed mum, and upon hearing them my own seem less fantastic. You saw him murder the Judge, is that true? If that is the case, all you must do is offer your account of Mr. Todd's villainous ways and you will be safe. He'll not come after you ever again."

Johanna frowned. "It is not Sweeney Todd I fear. He destroyed my enemy, albeit by foul means, and ensured my freedom however unconsciously he did so. I don't wish to turn my father in to the authorities, despite his murdering nature. At this point all I wish is to disappear from this life. My only good thoughts were the imaginary conjuring of my parents and hoping, if they were alive still, that they were happy. It is how I coped with years of imprisonment; shut out from everyone with no prayer to save me from my seclusion. I've been afraid for too many years, and the horrors of these past few nights will haunt me forever. I don't wish to live any longer."

After this confession passed her lips Johanna rested her forehead on her knees and cried quietly. How could she possibly leave now and forget everything that had happened? She couldn't. Her mother, crazed out of her mind, was brutishly murdered by a man she still could not believe to be her father. As she dwelled on the gruesome facts Toby spoke again.

"Unfortunately, mum, I have to return. It's against my better judgment, to be sure, but there is a lady I left there and I want to be sure she is safe. If I may ask, do you have any place to go or someone to turn to at this troubling time? I am sure your prospects'll change when the initial shock wears off."

Johanna realized in a moment that growing up she'd only had one person she could depend on. However, she guessed that Miss Cartwright had departed long ago after her employment was terminated. After all, if Johanna had been in the same situation she would not wish to stay. Although she was relieved the Judge would not come after her, how could she be thankful to such a man as his killer? If she was clever she would have rushed to the first officer she could find. Yet for some strange reason she felt no desire to prosecute Mr. Todd, and it wasn't because he was her father. She was terrified of the man, to be sure, especially when she recalled him standing over her with a blade in his hand. However, there was something in him that sparked such an unfortunate circumstance that Johanna could not think of acting against him. It was far too difficult to explain, especially in her current state.

It was then that she'd regarded Toby's question. Who could she depend on in her time of need? Her thoughts drifted to the boyish visage of Anthony. She felt herself instantly warmed by imagining his warm, kind eyes and gentle nature. If she could turn to anyone in this dark moment in her life, it would most certainly be him. Toby's eyes remained on her with an expression of hope. She met his gaze and allowed a small smile to flutter across her lips.

"I will return with you. I too have a friend there who is no doubt wondering where I am."

Toby looked very glad, and reached out his hand to help her to her feet. Johanna walked beside the boy and attempted to tame her shaking limbs that would hardly hold her up. Her fear felt like ice inside her, and she could not take her hands off the bloody locket about her neck. Her feelings were muddled in detestable confusion, but she fought against her fear as she strode bravely down the dark avenue.

* * *

As Clara remained inside the revolting bake-house with a silent Mr. Barker, she felt as though she was fused to the spot, but it was not fear that kept her there any longer. Suddenly Mr. Barker rose steadily to his feet. Caught off guard, Clara jumped backward reflexively, and caught herself within his hard gaze momentarily. Without a word he stepped toward his dead wife and lifted her into his arms. His face remained unchanged as he cradled her in his embrace, holding her as though she was light as a feather. Mr. Barker did not spare another glance at Clara as he strode past her, carrying Lucy Barker out of the chamber solemnly.

Clara didn't dare speak to the silent man, although she desperately wished to inquire to where he was going. She bit her lip in submission as the last of Mr. Barker's footsteps faded from the chamber. For a while she simply stood there with her gaze fixed upon the floor. She rested her hand against her chest, wincing as she felt how fast her pulse was pounding. She had done her best to ease Mr. Barker's suffering, although she was quite certain there was nothing to be done for him. She refused to believe that Benjamin Barker was lost forever, despite how much evidence proved it. Clara rested her back against the cold stone and stared at the massive oven positioned at the opposite end of the chamber. The memory of Mrs. Lovett's excruciating wails echoed through Clara's head unmercifully, causing her to sag against the wall with a nauseous stomach. What a horribly tragic night it had been; Clara was hardly sure how she had kept herself from fainting throughout each dreadful ordeal that grew more gruesome than the last. Suddenly, a voice called from above.

"Johanna? Johanna, where are you?"

Clara felt a gasp escape her throat at the sound of Anthony's cries. Then Johanna was here. Clara abandoned the bake-house and rushed as quickly as she could up the stairway. She glanced about quickly as she reached the street, just in time to witness Anthony flying down the steps from the Mr. Barker's parlor. His eyes were wide in terror.

"Please! Where is she?" Clara's words escaped her as Anthony grasped her by the shoulders, panic evident in his voice. "Where is Johanna?"

"Johanna?" Clara's voice was but a quiet whisper. "I…"

"Upstairs…there's blood everywhere. You must tell me where to find her?" Anthony was white with fear, as was Clara.

There was not a clue in Clara's mind that could offer her the whereabouts of the poor child. Clara was unsure how much Johanna knew, and yet even the knowledge that a villainous man like Sweeney Todd was her father would be enough to break her gentle spirit, perhaps forever. Fresh tears cascaded down Clara's cheeks. Neither Johanna nor her conflicted father deserved such a fate. Soon she calmed herself enough to take hold of the situation.

"I am sure she's alright Anthony." She offered him an encouraging squeeze on the forearm. "We will find her."


	38. XXXVIII

**-XXXVIII-**

The fog was thickly billowing along the cobbled lanes of London as Sweeney Todd carried his wife through the deserted street. He walked as though in a trance, and his expression was so vacantly haunting that wretches sleeping in the gutter retreated to the alleyways to avoid his notice. Little did they know nothing could deter Todd from his intention. His face remained streaked in blood, and he had no intention of clearing it away. The emptiness of his existence consumed him as he continued to walk without rest or falter. He continued onward until the city faded into the scenery and he approached the cemetery. As Todd and his wife passed through the iron gates, a soft falling of snow began to fill the air with tiny crystals. The snowflakes caressed Lucy's serene countenance as Todd carried her on. He walked stiffly about the cold tombstones, not sparing a glance at the names engraved in each marble dedication. It was when he stood before a great stone angel that he finally stopped.

His cold expression began to contort in strengthening anger as his eyes locked upon the thoughtless smile the stone angel wore. Todd lowered his wife to the ground, pausing a moment before slowly rising to his feet once again. He reached for the razor at his belt and removed it from its place. He swiftly flipped the blade open and gazed at the sharpened edge with utter lack of emotion. He closed his eyes, forcing back his sorrow, and felt his empty and silent tears break through his restraint as he wrathfully slashed the blade across the stone angel's throat, again and again.

* * *

Johanna was feeling remarkably better than she had only a few moments ago, although she was still quite disconcerted. She supposed she'd never be herself again, not after all she'd experienced. On the way back to the barber shop Johanna had nearly collapsed from trembling, and to her gratitude Toby offered his hand to her. Although she didn't know of the trials of the boy, she was certain they were equally as traumatizing as her own, and yet he was showing far more courage than she. The remainder of the distance Johanna vowed to be as brave as she could. The two of them finally rounded the final turn and to Johanna's utter delight both Anthony and Miss Clara stood there. By the looks on their faces they were incredibly distressed, and likely they had a right to be so. Anthony turned and met her gaze with a relived expression.

"Johanna."

Johanna smiled timidly, and could not keep the smile off her face as the young man rushed toward her with open arms and embraced her. Despite how cold she felt, there was so much warmth in Anthony that she felt as though her eternal night was finally ending. He was the one who saved her from the darkness, and she would be forever in his debt because of it. Anthony straightened and gazed at her with worry. He brushed a thumb down her jaw softly.

"Are you alright?" He asked her quietly.

Johanna nodded. "More than ever, thanks to you Anthony."

Anthony smiled happily. "Thank heaven for that."

As Johanna reconciled with Anthony, another exchange was taking place between Toby and Miss Clara. Johanna could not hear what was being spoken, but it appeared the news was not of a casual nature. Unable to stop herself, Johanna rushed toward her former governess and long time friend with relief. Clara embraced the girl tightly.

"Oh Johanna, I'm so glad that you're safe. So many things have happened that I feared…" Clara abruptly halted her thought, and Johanna offered a suspicious glance. Clara sighed. "I've discovered more truths than I should ever know."

Suddenly Anthony spoke up. "Miss Cartwright? I have to ask, is Mr. Todd alright?" All three companions stiffened at the mention of this. At their baffled silence Anthony elaborated. "All that blood in his parlor makes me fear something awful has happened."

Clara broke from her spell first. "Indeed it has Anthony, but you needn't concern yourself about it. Now, I would hope you two could return to the manor and gather the remainder of Johanna's things. You will need them if you are to leave promptly, I expect."

Anthony was unconvinced that returning to the Judge's home was the best course of action, for he was completely ignorant of all the dreadful proceedings that occurred that night. Johanna read the hinting in Clara's voice and explained they would be quite safe to collect her things if they did so quickly. As the two of them disappeared down the street, Clara did her best to console Toby. It came to very little. The boy was so full of questions Clara could hardly keep up, and many of them she dared not think about much less explain. It was too appalling. She placed a hand on Toby's shoulder.

"You are welcome to leave now, if you wish, Toby. Unfortunately I am committed to stay until I can repay my debt to a certain gentleman. I understand if you would rather depart from this place without delay, but if you choose to remain with me I would cherish your company."

Toby considered. "I cannot believe how anything could keep you in this dreadful place mum, but if you're determined than so am I. You saved my life, after all."

Clara smiled and touched his cheek. "I'm sure you'd have been fine on your own, lad, but I'd be grateful for your help."

For the final hours until the dawn Clara and Toby cleaned the evidence of the butchery that had taken place in Mr. Barker's barber shop. Although Clara offered Toby the choice, the boy had resiliently agreed to wash the blood from the parlor itself, as well as the splotches on the window. Clara's job was far less desirable. Life had struck most of the womanly fragility out of Clara, but no sane human being could easily come into contact with the bones of her own kind. She cleaned away what she could, and burned what she could, but every breath she took wore away her determination.

More than once she collapsed in a fit of gagging and yet she didn't vomit again. There was only so much she could endure, and she knew she would not be able to drag the bodies of the Judge or his deputy into the flames, despite how much she despised them both. She hid the corpses, and hoped that when Mr. Barker returned he would have regained some of his senses and could ably destroy the remaining evidence of his rampage.


	39. XXXIL

**-XXXIL-**

Sweeney Todd pitched forward, utterly exhausted. His outburst against an enemy who was beyond his wrath had taken its toll, and he tossed his useless razor away as he stared miserably at the angel's smiling face. Fifteen years ago, Benjamin Barker could not imagine a life without his dear Lucy. When Johanna was born, he'd thought himself undeserving of such happiness. Scattered though those fifteen years he had butchered more people than he could count, and it was by his own hand that his wife's life had ended. He had nearly put an end to his own daughter's existence as well, and each time he saw the look of terror in the young child's face he fell farther and father into despair.

Sweeney Todd considered ending his life once more, but the words of the woman who'd been lurking in the bake-house came to his mind once again. Todd gently lifted Lucy up again, and then laid her on a ceremonial platform of carved stone. He couldn't create a grave for her, not yet. He hadn't seen her for fifteen years and he could not dismiss her so quickly. He laid a hand on hers.

"You're in heaven now, my love. I fear I shall never see you again, even upon my own death. The terrible things I've done with ensure I shall never be at ease again. I'm sorry Lucy. Nothing can reunite us now."

Sweeney Todd trailed a finger across Lucy's pale cheek and then combed through her exquisite yellow hair. He felt her blood against his fingertips, but did not shudder at the contact. He simply bowed his head and slowly turned about, leaving the cemetery behind.

* * *

The sky was brightening more at every passing moment, for which Clara was glad. She'd been almost afraid that the sun would not wish to show its face after the crimes and tribulations that had taken place in the fateful avenue of Fleet Street. Both Clara and Toby had finished hiding the mess as best they could, and Clara was utterly ashamed to put Toby through such an endeavor. After all, he still held a firm belief that the honorable course of action would be to alert the authorities to Sweeney Todd's countless murders. In her logical mind, Clara knew this was right. However, she was perhaps the last person alive who knew of the horrors Mr. Barker had been forced to face. She could not insure Mr. Barker's arrest and inevitable execution so simply.

Clara exited the bake-house and felt somewhat rejuvenated at the crisp air that welcomed her. She caught a glimpse of Toby sitting idly in the pie shop, twiddling his thumbs and looking extremely out of sorts. Clara had not detailed Mrs. Lovett's death to the boy, but she had informed him that his former employer was no longer living. Toby was not exactly saddened as much as he was sorry for her, and Clara supposed she felt the same way. The woman had been gruesome enough to fill her pies with human flesh and distribute them among the public. To think that Clara had been revolted to eat cat meat! She was utterly thankful that her moral qualms kept her from sampling one of the detestable pies. Clara sighed. She decided that she would offer one more check to the barber shop before confronting Toby about their questionable deeds.

Clara lifted her exhausted limbs up the staircase at a weary pace, depending heavily on the wooden railings. She could scarcely believe she had only entered her thirties and already she felt as tired as an old woman. It was quite unnerving. Catching her breath Clara easily opened the door and stepped inside the shop. When she offered a glance upward she jolted in shock. Mr. Barker, still stained with blood, sat sagged in the chair at the centre of the room. He didn't react as Clara entered, and for a moment she contemplated whether or not to leave. Despite her better judgment Clara warily stepped toward the water basin behind the barber's chair. She swallowed back nervousness as she poured the water from the jug into the washbasin, and was surprised to find it still warm. Carefully she saturated a cloth into the warm water.

"I am not sure of your intentions at this point Mr. Barker, but if it's all the same to you I would like to repay you for the kindness you offered me all those years ago. I feel obligated to do so before I leave this place." Clara took the cloth in one hand and slowly stepped into Mr. Barker's line of sight. His gaze was empty, as though fixed on something Clara could not see. Clara cleared her throat. "When the authorities come to inquire about the disappearance of the Judge…and the beadle…I think you will be better off with a face clean of their blood."

Clara handed the cloth to Mr. Barker, but he made no move to take it. Instead, his gaze left the invisible fascination and locked onto hers. Clara felt instantly disturbed. It was in that very room fifteen years ago that she'd had her warmest memories. There had been flowers and sunlight, and so much love between a barber and his wife that Clara wouldn't have believed such adoration between two people possible. Clara glanced away so she was not inclined to meet Mr. Barker's sorrowful eyes. He spoke when she did not.

"What should I have done?"

His voice was so hollow that Clara had to choke back a sob. She answered with an even voice. "It is not my place to say, sir."

Mr. Barker made a strange growling sound before continuing. "When I escaped from prison all I had on my mind was revenge. I cannot remember a time when hatred was not burning in my veins. I want you to tell me what I should have done."

Clara accepted the challenge. "If you would honestly desire my opinion Mr. Barker, I will not withhold it. I do not presume to judge, since I cannot even imagine the trials you must have faced. Honestly, what do I think you should have done when you returned? You should have searched for your daughter. Over the years I'd done my best to love and protect her, but I was not enough. She needed her father." Silence prevailed. Clara lowered her eyes, ashamed that she had carried on so far. She fiddled with the cloth in her hand.

"Apologies sir. I had no right." Clara leaned forward, determined to clean away the blood. "If I may, Mr. Barker."

Clara forced herself to display confidence, as though Mr. Barker was some savage creature that could sense fear instead of a man broken by terrible experience. Clara slowly touched the saturated cloth to Mr. Barker's forehead and gently wiped away the blood. Mr. Barker continued to stare vacantly forward.

"Why are you doing this? What have you to gain from it?"

Despite the fact Clara knew Mr. Barker probably learned long ago never to trust anyone, the harsh question still hurt. Clara paused for a moment, and then continued washing away the red stains.

"A piece of mind, maybe. Perhaps the knowledge that I did something to contribute to little Johanna's salvation. I can't really say. I suppose what little assistance I can offer will free me from the obligations I feel I owe to a family I admired."

After another moment of silence Mr. Barker rose from the chair, claiming the warm cloth from Clara as he did so. He strode to the window and stared through the murky glass. He didn't turn around again.

"Allow me a moment." Mr. Barker's voice was stern but soft.

Clara nodded and got to her feet, rather relieved that their interaction was at an end. "I'll leave you to your thoughts, then."

Clara quickly exited the shop, hoping Mr. Barker would clean himself up before a constable decided to investigate the strange disappearances. She glided down the steps with a cool hand to her warm forehead. Clara was quite aware what Mr. Barker was capable of, and therefore each conversation with him was hardly enjoyable. However she was having difficulty comparing the man hunched in a defeated slump in his barber's chair to the murderer who could kill without thought or regret. She supposed it was this cold and vengeful exterior that led Mrs. Lovett to fall in love with him. Or perhaps she was simply deceived by the temperate nature of the man he used to be. Clara could never say that Mrs. Lovett simply got was what coming to her, yet she found she possessed little sympathy for a woman who could assist an unstable man into committing such heinous crimes.

As Clara reached the bottom step she prepared to speak with Toby about her decision to conceal Mr. Barker's horrible misdeeds. She felt she owed it to the poor boy for all he had to go through during his employment. As she rested her hand on the door handle, she felt a hand touch her gently on the shoulder. Clara turned about, and her former emptiness was instantly filled with warmth. Johanna was dressed in a simple but nonetheless entrancing frock adorned with golden lace against white cloth. She looked like an angel. Johanna smiled.

"I couldn't leave without saying goodbye."

Clara took her hands in hers. "I will miss you so very much Johanna, and I am so glad you could finally find a measure of happiness."

Johanna's smile faded. "An illusion, I'm afraid. I have banished my fears so I might prepare myself to face my father."

Clara instantly felt cold, and she did not answer Johanna's inevitable request. Johanna sighed before continuing.

"I'd hoped that I could speak to him before I depart."

It took a moment for Clara to realize she was asking permission. Clara felt extremely hesitant about the entire thing, and yet she knew if there was ever a chance for the family to heal, some kind of reconciliation had to be made. Clara offered a regretful smile.

"I know that there is nothing I can say to help you with this, Johanna. I will say that your father was not a bad man; he just was the victim of unimaginable treatment. He loved his family very much. That is something you must know."

Johanna nodded slowly, and then started up the staircase. Clara looked on with a heavy heart, but refused to interfere any longer. She had overstepped her bounds as a concerned individual long ago. She released a long exhale and entered the pie shop.


	40. XL

**-XL-**

Sweeney Todd dipped his cupped hands in the basin and splashed the water against his face, washing away what blood remained. He reached for a towel and dried the water dripping off his face before tossing it away. He'd removed his fingerless gloves and cleaned the Judge's blood from his hands, yet he found he hadn't another shirt to change into. Although he was still trapped in a blank state of mind, he supposed there was some logic in the interfering woman's words. Todd slipped into his coat to conceal his blood-soaked sleeves before gazing out the window once again.

He heard a timid tapping at the door. Todd clasped his hands behind his back, not inclined to answer. If that meddlesome woman was determined to enter, he suspected he would do so. Otherwise he was not interested in obliging her. He kept his gaze completely focused on the window even as the door creaked open and then gently closed. Whoever had entered did not speak directly, but Sweeney Todd still did not turn. It was only when he heard a voice like the soft coo of a lark that he felt any reaction.

"Mr. Todd?"

Todd stiffened, suddenly very frightened. He knew to whom this gentle voice belonged. He finally rotated to face the young lady who had entered. He could read hesitation in Johanna's face, feathered with a concealed fear that was heartrending to behold. She had both hands clasped in front of her as she shyly glanced about, probably wondering how to commence. Todd hadn't the slightest idea how to ease her discomfort, nor could he derive what he could possibly say to her. Perhaps what was the most painful to regard was how strongly his daughter resembled her mother. It was not simply the long golden hair that sparked a likeness, but also the modest perception alight within her demeanor. Johanna bowed her head in uncertainty.

"I'm sorry to bother you, I just thought that I should speak to you before…well, Anthony is leaving the city and I'm going with him. There's never been anything for me here. I'm not likely to ever forget the horrible things that happened this night, but before I left I just wanted to say," Johanna finally lifted her chin. "I forgive you, father."

Sweeney Todd felt a strange sensation. His hard, cold features relaxed into an expression of bewilderment. Johanna offered a small smile.

"For whatever good it will do."

Without a word Todd slowly stepped toward his beautiful daughter. Johanna stared at him hesitantly, but she didn't move. Sweeney Todd stopped directly before her, not offering even the slightest change in expression. By the look on Johanna's face she didn't know what to think. She gazed up at him, eyes glassy with tears. Todd could not describe the regret he suffered. He could not help thinking about the wasted years spent in prison while his child grew into a beautiful young woman. He escaped imprisonment by destroying his former identity and surviving off a lust for vengeance. Benjamin Barker could have found the words he sought to speak to his daughter, but Sweeney Todd hadn't the slightest idea. Todd closed his eyes and then slowly opened them again.

"Thank you." He said quietly.

He expected his daughter to turn away at his admission of guilt, and yet, he never expected what occurred at the very next moment. Johanna leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace. Todd froze. He stood stiffly, scarcely daring to draw breath as the tiny angel held him. His hands hovered in the air, cold as a statue; unsure how to react to her forgiveness. He settled on hesitantly resting his hands on her shoulders, his fear escalating as the warm sensation wore on but likewise terrified that it would end. They stood in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity. The past could never be forgotten, but as Sweeney Todd held his child he supposed his life might be worth living after all.

* * *

Clara watched Johanna and Anthony disappear into the morning fog with a heavy heart. She and her former charge's goodbye was kept short for their own good. Clara suspected if they'd drawn out their farewells any longer, she would be tempted to beg the young woman to stay. However, Clara could not possibly request such a thing. After sixteen years of confinement, Johanna deserved to stretch her wings. Clara had spoken to Toby about why she had helped Mr. Todd and why she did not run for the police like any normal human being would have done. Clara attempted to justify her actions by offering snippets of Mr. Todd's past that would not be an insult to his privacy. By the look on Toby's face, the lad still did not understand how someone who committed multiple murders, even if he had an unfortunate history, deserved to be protected. Clara hardly knew the answer herself. Before Johanna and Anthony's departure, and at the conclusion of Clara and Toby's dispute, Toby asked the woman for advice.

"I wouldn't want to leave you alone, mum, especially after all this messy business. But, I was thinkin' I might like to leave this city for a while. So many things happened here that'll haunt my dreams forever. I heard Miss Johanna's friend talk of life on the sea, and I reckoned I may want to try my hand. I understand if you want me to remain here with you mum."

"Before you go any farther," Clara interrupted gently. "I'd like to thank you for your concern, but I've been living on these streets since before I could walk. There's no need to stay with me Toby, I'll be fine. You're a good lad, and you'll be a fine sailor."

Toby's eyes lit up as though her opinion was important to his decision, and Clara was rather flustered at the thought that the boy would be willing to ignore his dreams to live with her. However, although Clara liked Toby very much, she appreciated her solitude, and could think of nothing better than to purchase a small apartment toward the heart of London. Despite all that happened there, Clara truly loved the city. So Toby requested to travel alongside Anthony and offer his services to the young man. Anthony was delighted, of course. Clara had never before seen a man with quite a genuinely kind disposition as Anthony naturally possessed.

The nightmare was over, or so it appeared. Clara felt slightly hollow as the three young people she so admired disappeared from Fleet Street, and she prayed that each of them would someday forget the horrors which occurred there. Clara sighed, and brushed a strand of reddish hair away from her face. She offered a glance toward Mr. Barker's establishment, and was astounded to find she was contemplating whether or not to ascend the steps. A voice in her mind kindled her fears, attempting to convince her that she had found her way through a few conversations with the man without incident, but that was hardly to last. Clara touched her throat absently.

_Without incident? The man could have strangled me if he had a mind to._

It was then that Clara realized that although Mr. Barker was a dangerous man, she could not summon up enough fear to be terrified of his presence. He could easily kill her, that was certain, and yet she was not afraid anymore. He was a sorrowful man who was capable of any form of violent behavior, and despite this knowledge Clara carefully stepped toward the shop. Her fingertips brushed the cold brass handle, and she glanced up to the sky for a brief moment. Snow was falling. Clara smiled softly despite herself, and gently tapped the door.

"Mr. Barker? Are you there sir?"

Clara was not expecting an answer, which offered her even more of a shock when she received one.

"Come in."

Mr. Barker's husky voice did not sound inviting in the least, but it was a start. Clara slowly eased open the door and stepped inside the shop, shivering momentarily at the chill that danced up her spine. Mr. Barker stood with his back to her, facing the old cot that had never been used. Clara wondered if Mr. Barker ever slept. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his shoulders rose and fell consistently with each careful breath. After a time he spoke.

"Do you remember this room?"

Clara did not understand at once. "Sir?"

"All those years ago. Before my wife was poisoned; before I was sent to prison. Do you remember how it used to look?"

A faint smile brushed Clara's lips at the memory. "Implicitly, Mr. Barker."

Mr. Barker still refrained from facing her. "Tell me."

"The walls were gold, and seemed to embrace the sunlight as it streamed through the window. There were flowers all around, and I can still remember the smell of the yellow daffodils."

"They were her favorite." Mr. Barker uttered quietly, almost to himself.

Clara could think of no other course than to continue. "There was a table in the corner containing the equipment of your profession, and a chair for your customers. Even though I was there only for a night and morning I can still remember the warmth, so alive with love and adoration. I'd never been in company I admired so much." Clara suddenly realized she was revealing far too much to the still silent Mr. Barker. "Do forgive me sir, I do chatter without consideration I'm afraid. It's one of my most troublesome faults."

Mr. Barker ignored her apology. "I cannot remember this room, or how it once looked. I can't see my wife's face and can only recall her appearance from a worn photograph. All the memories I once treasured are gone." Suddenly Mr. Barker turned and faced Clara, causing the latter to nearly jump. "What's your name?"

"Clara Cartwright, sir."

"I would like to apologize for disappointing a chamber in which you seemed so fond of."

"If you could recreate it, Mr. Barker, would you want to?"

Mr. Barker's expression turned cold, but he remained silent so that she could elaborate. And indeed she planned to.

"Or would you prefer to leave your memories in darkness forever? Permit me to overstep my bounds for a moment, sir, but have you considered you may keep your recollections so buried inside that you may not suffer from them? I know you could not forget the happiness you and Mrs. Barker had, not entirely. I realize I should not be speaking in such a way but if you are ever to heal, you need to allow yourself a measure of happiness, even if only in your memories."

Mr. Barker took a deep breath. "My daughter forgave me. Despite all I've done; the blood I've shed, she still offered her forgiveness."

"Because I think she can see what lies inside, better than I or even you can. She is a perceptive child, Johanna. She has faith in you, Mr. Barker."

Mr. Barker nodded solemnly, and then let his gaze pass toward the window. Tiny flecks of snow danced across the pale grey sky. After a period of silence, Mr. Barker spoke again.

"What will you do now?"

The question caught Clara off guard, but she answered quickly. "I've saved enough to rent an apartment somewhere, perhaps Fore-street, and I plan to move there as soon as I can. Perhaps now is a good time to say goodbye, Mr. Barker."

With an emotionless expression Mr. Barker met Clara's eyes once again. "I have a request before you leave."

Clara blinked. "Yes, Mr. Barker?"

Mr. Barker paused for a moment before continuing. "I would prefer it if Benjamin Barker died with his wife, so that he might rest peacefully alongside her."

Clara was silent before she smiled softly. She nodded her head in compliance.

"As you wish…Mr. Todd."

With those final words Clara turned and exited the barber's shop, feeling a bright ray of contented warmth consume her even as the sky filled with snow.

_-The End-_


	41. Author's Note

Author's Note:

First and foremost, I offer my sincere congratulations to those who have found the courage to read "_The Demon Barber of Fleet Street_". It is dreadfully long, I know, but was such a joy to write. I do love writing characters like Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett, even though I don't dare experiment with their personalities or I do my best to refrain from it. I suppose that's what makes fanfiction so rewarding is the story's famous characters already breathe a life of their own. It is only a matter of incorporating them into a different story.

When I first came to this site, I immediately went in search of areas that interested me. I am very fond of haunting, Burton-style themes, which instantaneously led me to such titles as _Edward Scissorhands, the Nightmare before Christmas_ and of course, _Sweeney Todd_. While reading some of these stories I felt that if I was to write a tale about Sweeney Todd I should incorporate an original character. Unfortunately, there are times when an OC can completely ruin a story by taking control of the theme and overshadowing the title characters. I desperately tried to avoid falling into such a hole, but I did not dismiss my idea for an OC. There were many times in the film- which I am sure is behavior not limited to me alone- I wanted to shout out at Todd for abandoning his daughter, or I felt a passionate urge to clout Judge Turpin for being such a revolting pervert. I created Clarissa Cartwright for the sole purpose of being almost an audience's presence directly within the story. She would linger in the background; reacting to a situation when only absolutely necessary.

I enjoyed writing Benjamin Barker in my previous excerpt, "The _Transformation of Sweeney Todd_", primarily because I was allowed to experiment with a character never really introduced in the film. All we knew is that he was a kind and naïve gentleman who adored his family. He did not deserve to be parted from his wife and daughter simply by the whim of a lustful man of power, and I felt that the devastation of such an occurrence had to be relayed within the story. Of course, my writing style is not as learned as I would prefer, however I was more or less satisfied with the plot I came up with. Sweeney Todd was far more interesting to write. Here is a man who is nothing like his previous identity, and yet it is apparent that there is a measure of Benjamin Barker still inside him. He is a handsome, brooding, dangerous man who, despite his constant blankness, was fairly difficult to write. Fortunately my job was simple at the beginning, since I pretty well allowed the film to dictate his actions. It was when I created the alternate ending that things got trickier.

Moving along, the character of Tobias Ragg was incredibly fascinating to work with. The part in the film that I despise is when Toby is locked away in that dreadful bake-house and the body of the beadle drops from the chute in the ceiling. This unfortunate boy is confronted with so many horrible things at once. First of course finding a human finger inside his pie, the second, recognizing the rotting bones in the bake-house to be human bones, and third, finding himself locked inside while a bleeding body dropped through the roof. I thought this was far too much to heap on the kid, and so when I first planned the alternate ending I immediately changed this scene. I also did not agree that Mrs. Lovett would lock Toby away and call for Mr. Todd to get rid of him. She is a tough, shrewd sort of woman but she's sentimental as well. I don't think she would find it in her heart, even one as oddly twisted as hers, to murder the boy.

It was for this scene that I relied on the original story of Sweeney Todd. It was a far different story than the film, and yet I thought the idea of sending Toby to the madhouse instead of banishing him to the oven room was a far better prospect.

To conclude this lengthy explanation, I would like to thank once again those who have read the entirety of this story. The saga of Mr. Sweeney Todd has two more installments before its conclusion, and if you enjoyed "_The Demon Barber of Fleet Street_" I hope you will take pleasure in reading "_Lying in Ashes_".

With Gratitude,

Angelic Requiem


End file.
